


Bloom

by kogosaiyajin



Series: Bit By Bit [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 74,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kogosaiyajin/pseuds/kogosaiyajin
Summary: The stakes are raised as Vegeta and Kakarot realize that Earth conceals fighters, assassins, and warriors of terrifying strength. Their mistakes will cost them, and lessons about the meaning of family come to fore.
Series: Bit By Bit [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194413
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

SIX MONTHS EARLIER, FEBRUARY 749

The sun sat high in the sky, scorching everything that wasn’t lucky enough to be shaded by the forest’s trees. Sweat poured down Tien’s back as he stood motionless on one hand, the other behind his back and his feet reaching for the sky. Minutes passed while he remained still, his deep slow breathing scarcely moving his chest. _The Flag Stands Over the Battlefield_ strained every bit of his concentration, his fingers gripping the soft earth beneath him to stabilize himself.

Slowly, he bent his supporting arm, casting the other arm to the side and curling his lower body downward, onto itself into _Crow Flies at Dawn._ Shen had drilled these poses and hundreds more into him since the time he could walk, pushing him past the soreness each waking morning brought until he could last a whole sequence. Liquid fire raced through his veins as they strained against his skin, the immense muscular exertion filling him with that familiar comfortable heat. He counted the twigs the sunbeams crossed as time passed until the shakiness subsided and his body relaxed into the position. Satisfied, he lowered himself to the ground, standing slowly and stretching before wiping his face on his wrist.

Inhaling deeply, he sprinted at the nearest large tree, running up the side and launching himself across the clearing. Jumping nimbly from limb to limb, he zigzagged through the woods, turning unpredictably and adapting to each turn with incredible agility and balance. His heartbeat thundered in his palms and the soles of his feet, his chest pumping until he tasted and smelled his own blood.

His target tree spotted and chosen, he leaped from a high branch, wrapped himself in ki, and flew towards the ground, his _kiai_ muffling him like a bird of prey in _The Icicle Spears the Beetle._ He shot his hand forward, blading his fingers tightly together as he neared the ground. With an ear-shattering _CRACK!_ His hand burst through the trunk of a tree three times as wide as him, giving a sickening groan as it splintered. He exhaled, low and hard, his ears ringing from the adrenaline. Calmly, he climbed back to his feet before narrowing his eyes critically at the decimated flora.

Tien’s self-control melted away and he let out an audible gasp as his eyes focused through the massive hole and past the tree. A woman stood in the shadows, unearthly blue hair streaked with blonde tumbling down her shoulders and ending at her waist. The third eye opened on his forehead, the pupil contracting as it focused on the shimmering apparition before him. His human eyes saw the body, but his _mitsume_ saw the spirit possessing it – a ghost judging by the pale transparent quality it had.

Taking a step back, he stumbled in surprise, but when he blinked she was gone, then standing right in front of him. Her figure skipped and shuttered across the forest floor, moving soundlessly without disturbing a single fallen leaf. He backed up, but in his haste, he tripped over a root and went sprawling to the ground. The woman loomed over him, her face expressionless.

Wariness crept into his throat, chilling him and taking all the warmth his practice had brought. “What do you want, _Yurei_?” he asked.

Her mouth was the only thing that moved, her dark eyes impossibly large in her pale face.

“I have searched for you, debtor. You have taken so many lives, yet you know not why. The justice you believe you deliver is entwined in hatred and corruption; you are the hand of the disease that grips this land,” she stared at him silently, as if expecting him to understand and waiting for a response.

“Disease? Debt? What are you talking about?” his mind raced.

_She must know about the assassinations._

Her eyes flashed in anger and the blonde streaks in her hair seemed to spread, setting her head aglow.

“You are far from innocent, do not attempt to play that role with me.”

Something in her voice lent genuine danger, and he defensively held up his hands, sitting up straight.

“Just tell me what this is about, whatever you think is going on I can explain.”

Her laugh was cold and mirthless. “You murdered a man, a man the people chose to protect and represent them, a man shining like a beacon of hope in a city full of despicable humans and corrupt souls. You ripped that hope from them, and death followed in your wake like a flame through dry forest. What say you now, _Mitsume_ _-jin_?”

Tien’s mouth went dry. His last contract for the Tokai; Shen had told him the governor of the Eastern Capitol was kidnapping and selling orphans.

“You’re lying,” he accused, but doubt crept at the back of his mind like greasy fingers.

Since that contract, Shen had become distant, more paranoid and suspicious. He claimed the fallout from the assassination was greater than anticipated, saying they would have to lie low for longer than usual.

The Yurei pointed at his third eye accusingly, “You know I do not lie, search me well and see. I have returned to see you set your mistakes right.”

Tien frowned, but try as he might, could not sense any deceit or malice from her.

“If I’m to listen to you, why don’t you start with your name?” he asked suddenly as he stood up.

She seemed surprised at the request, “You may call me Lun Chu. It is the name I was given by King Yema when he returned me to this world,” she said simply. He didn’t respond, only nodded, and she continued.

“I was in service to the man you murdered. I found his body lying on the floor that afternoon. His body looked rotted on one side, and his hand was stretched towards the door as if he begged for help until the last moment. I tried to save him, tried to get him breathing again. But what killed him still lay in wait, a snare for those who would have interfered with your work. The moment my lips touched his skin, I was poisoned, and within minutes I lay dead next to him.”

The blue dominated Lun Chu’s hair again, and her eyes now looked haunted instead of angry.

“I was not meant to die, I should not have died. But you interfered with life, you stole mine from me, and countless others as a result of your murderous ways,” her gaze intensified, “Should you continue on this path of destruction, there are consequences you cannot see that will affect the entire world. You will not stop the evil that is coming, but the one who will depends on you.”

Tien shook his head, angry, “Look, you’ve got this all wrong. I would never kill anyone who didn’t deserve it. I’m always careful, only harm the mark. Stick to the shadows,” he hesitated, his voice softening as he lowered his eyes, “I didn’t know you would be there, though. You’re right, you weren’t supposed to die.”

He looked back up at her, “But I swear to you, you have to be mistaken. If you’re not lying, you have to be wrong! That man was a murderer, buying and selling children. Did you really know him? Are you sure?” his voice was desperate, almost pleading. He couldn’t believe Shen, much less the Tokai, would be mistaken about a target.

Lun Chu’s voice was cool, “Are you certain you know your master?”

Tien’s protested, “You don’t understand, he took me in as a baby, as an orphan. My mother abandoned me, I’ve never had anyone but him. You’ve got to believe me, you’re making a mistake.”

“He murdered your mother,” she said without emotion.

Tien’s mouth worked like a fish trying to breathe on land. Rage and fear rose in his chest, tangling like a mass of vines that choked his throat and swallowed his words. His voice was raw and hoarse when he spoke.

“You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.”

 _Yes I do._ Lun Chu’s voice echoed in his mind and he shuddered at the telepathic intrusion. _And now, so do you._

Screams filled his mind, a village was on fire, people running in every direction. The edges of the vision blurred into hazy blackness. Shen’s voice, younger but still recognizable cut through the smoke.

“One of these cretins _must_ have a brat young enough,” he growled.

Tien felt the man’s hatred and his stomach churned. Suddenly, the vision skipped, Shen loomed over a terrified woman cowering behind a boulder. A tiny baby lay in her arms. Everything spun until he could see Shen’s face, a hideous smile that dripped with malice twisting his features into a grotesque snarl.

His long, bony hand, wasted and ravaged by poison clawed towards the woman. She screamed and the shrill noise rose higher until his ears buzzed and rang. The vision became brighter until he saw nothing but white and Tien took a step back, staggered by realization. He choked and leaned over, vomiting violently.

“What have I done…” he groaned, cradling his head in his hands.

Lun Chu didn’t answer, and he sunk to the ground before looking up at her, his face horrified and haggard.

“I have to go…I can’t stay here anymore. If I have to face him he’ll know I know the second he sees me.”

She tilted her head at him. “Run. Don’t go back.”

* * *

Shen glided above the forest, keen eyes scanning the trees below like a hawk hunting its prey. The Tokai were planning something, he could feel it. He frowned to himself, forgetting his scrutiny of the woods for a moment. Their meetings were always full of secrets, but something vile hung in the air today - the way the smell of a rotting corpse fills the air for spans around. It was clear they were plotting, hiding something from him. Shen did not like secrets.

He had sat in the shadows, assuring them no one would find out about Tien’s role in the governor’s murder, soothing them with smooth words and reminders of their untouchable status. True, they had been hesitant to even allow him to send Tien on his last assassination. Too suspicious, they cried, for a second governor of the same city to be killed in the shadows. He had swayed them with promises about his star pupil’s prowess, and now they sought to place the blame solely on him.

_As if they could accomplish anything with me._

Eight hundred years the Tokai had served the highest bidder, trading in blood and gold. He scoffed to himself, remembering a time when death brought fear of the dark to people and struck terror into their hearts. Now it was the people who hunted him, for there was no room any longer for his craft. They had to tread lightly, now, more so with every kill. The world was changing; it no longer held a place for assassins and secrets, for poisons and traps.

_They think they can apprehend me? Never!_

He would have to move, it was no longer safe to remain at the dojo. He would tell Tien, he decided, have him remain home at all times now, just as soon as they found a new place to stay. There would be no more free training in the woods.

Sometimes he wondered if he had outdone himself, molding the boy by force to the picture of unquestioning devotion and loyalty. Yes, Tien would serve well. And if the Tokai truly were against him, well, the boy would serve as enough of a distraction to let him escape.

A small space between the dense trees signaled his descent, and Shen dropped silently through the foliage to the ground. A tingle crept up the back of his neck as his feet touched the first step of the dojo. He froze. The smell of death hung in the air, and he searched for a ki signature.

Shen slid the door open, silently slipping out of his shoes and creeping across the threshold. Try as he might though, he could not find a trace of Tien’s energy.

_He’s gone. And far, too. I can’t sense him. Those cursed Tokai must have taken him, killed him by now probably!_

Dropping all pretense of stealth, Shen bolted to his room. Scrolls and tablets flew through the air as he rifled through chests, tossing things into a satchel. He checked his waist pocket, gingerly touching the brilliant orange ball before slipping back into his shoes and hurrying out of the dojo.

He had scarcely left the last stone on the walkway before he turned and pointed a finger at the building. Lightning exploded from the tip, exploding in a fiery burst. Hungry flames roared across the thatch roof, licking at the bamboo and devouring it. In seconds the entire thing was engulfed, but Shen was not there to see it crumble to the ground in a splintering heap.

_I must get away. To the mountains._

This must have been what the Tokai were planning, why they had all seemed aloof to him. They had taken his pupil, his prize triumph. And now they were coming for him. He flew north, challenging the wind to keep up.

* * *

PRESENT DAY, AUGUST 749

With the dragon ball from Gyumao safely tucked away, Bulma urged them to waste no time in leaving Fa Pan. They had set out nearly just as soon as she came back to the square, and traveled without stopping all day. Bulma sat on her motorcycle again, relegating Kakarot to Kinto Un. Vegeta flew on her other side, insisting that there wasn’t enough room for him to sit with her anyway. She had given him a grumpy look, almost disappointed, but eventually relented.

The road following the coastline was rocky, skinny scrub brush defiantly choking its way up through the sandy soil. Parts of the path disappeared at the edges, crumbling into the sand slopes that led to the ocean. The salty air was sharp and clean, cooling the breeze coming off of it.

“I thought we were in a hurry, why are we sticking so close to the coast?” Vegeta complained to Bulma, “I saw the map, we could have gone straight there.’’

 _“_ Because,” her voice was exasperated, “There are military checkpoints all the way there,” she tapped the rifle strapped to the motorcycle seat behind her, “There’s no way this contraband would pass. And you heard the Gyumao, there are bandits all over the east.”

Vegeta made an annoyed noise, “If you say so. I still say Kakarot and I could take any of those puny humans.”

Kakarot slowed Kinto-Un, lowering himself to meet Bulma’s eye.

“Hey! There’s a house up ahead ‘n someone’s standin’ outside!”

Bulma stopped her bike so fast Vegeta shot past her, cursing as her wheels tore the earth and scattered a cloud of dust. He coughed, waving his hand at the offending air.

“What’s the big deal? You told us to look out if we saw anyone, are you expecting trouble?”

She scrunched her face at him before taking off her goggles and shaking her hair free.

“I don’t want to just drive up to whoever this is, we’re pretty far east now, so that could be anyone,” she shook her head in annoyance and rolled her eyes, “Didn’t you listen to anything the Gyumao said? Boys, you’re all the same, always ready to run off headlong into danger.”

Vegeta glared at her as she stepped off the bike and encapsulated it, rifle and all. The tip of his tail came unwound and he lashed it unconsciously against his waist. Kakarot hopped off Kinto Un, giving a hearty stretch and a sigh.

“Whoever they are, I hope they have food. I’m _starving_.”

“Well come on then, if you saw them they probably saw us. Best to be on our guard,” Bulma said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

They spotted a building in the distance, a tendril of smoke wisping up from the chimney. The house was tiny and weather-worn. The thatch on the roof was bleached nearly white from the sun, and the stones at the entrance were worn smooth from the salty air. A tiny porch extended off of it with a set of rickety stairs.

A bare-chested man stood in front of the house, holding himself with an odd sense of almost formality. His hands were behind his back and his feet shoulder-width apart. Deep green pants flared out, ending in tight gold cuffs at the ankles. His feet were clad in dark red slippers, not unlike the ones Kakarot wore. Scars crisscrossed his well-muscled chest and arms, and his head was shaved clean. His dark eyes narrowed as they stepped onto a worn dirt path leading to the house.

“That is far enough. Whoever you are, whatever they paid you, I promise you it’s not worth dying for.”

Vegeta froze in his tracks, immediately grabbing Bulma’s wrist and dragging her behind him. The air felt electrified around him just like it had when Roshi and Gohan had taken fighting stances and he could sense Kakarot’s unease. His tail normally drifted behind him, much to Vegeta’s frequent chagrin, but it now lie coiled around his waist with the tip bristling.

Bulma was protesting, trying to loosen his grip, “Hey take it easy! I’m fragile!”

“Hush!” he hissed at her, “Let me handle this.”

The man called out to them again, still unmoving, “This is your last chance. Leave now.”

Vegeta felt Kakarot’s eyes on him but gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. He recognized a fighting man when he saw one, and this man was unlike any he’d met so far. But he couldn’t put his finger on why. He didn’t feel safe turning his back on him and just walking away. Bulma being there made it even riskier, he knew. Anyone with a pair of eyes in their head would target her first.

A slender woman stepped out of the shadowy doorway just then, blue curly hair tumbling about her shoulders. Despite her beauty, Vegeta felt suddenly ill at the sight of her. Something felt…wrong. Her voice almost had a theatrical air to it, and she pointed at the man on the porch as she spoke.

“You cannot send them away, _mistume_ _-jin._ They are instrumental in your redemption.”

This seemed to make the man very uncomfortable, and his rigid posture lost some of its composure.

“I told you to quit calling me that, it’s Tien. How many times do I have to tell you?”

She chuckled at him, her laughter like dry reeds scraping one another. The sound raised every hair from Vegeta’s scalp, down to his tail.

“Tell me all you like, you will get no peace from me until your debt is paid.”

Yanking herself free, Bulma called out, “Look, we didn’t mean any trouble. We’re just trying to stay _away_ from all the trouble by sticking to the coastline. We don’t want anything to do with whatever it is you think we’re mixed up in. We’re just looking for the Dragon Balls, and I don’t think –”

Tien lunged down the steps, and Vegeta and Kakarot jumped in front of Bulma, trying to shield her from the oncoming attack. It was a useless attempt. He grabbed them each by the wrist in turn, throwing them to the side with a blast of air that seemed to erupt from his palms.

Bulma yelped in surprise, “Hey! What’s the big idea, let us go!”

Frantically, Tien shushed her, placing a hand over her mouth, “Not another word until we get inside. The house is warded against eavesdroppers,” he murmured warily, removing his hand. “Inside, _now_ , unless you want a horde of bandits showing up.”

Something about his voice lent an urgency Bulma was inclined to believe, especially after Gyumao’s warnings. Still, she didn’t like being pushed around. Glaring, she nodded to Vegeta and Kakarot before jerking away from Tien and stomping up the stairs.

“I can move myself, thank you very much.”

Tien came inside last, practically shoving Vegeta and Kakarot through the door before shoving it closed. The room was tiny and bare, empty save a small fire pit in the corner and a low, worn table with no chairs. Kakarot opened his mouth, intending to protest, and Tien cut him off, harshly shushing again.

“Don’t you know even the trees have ears? What’s the big idea, yelling about a - ” he looked around furtively and dropped his voice lower, “Dragon ball? Are you trying to get us _all_ killed?”

The three companions looked at each other in confusion.

Bulma was the first to speak, “How do you know about the Dragon Balls?”

Tien pulled back, his face clouding, “Let’s just say I know someone who doesn’t use it for good.”

Bulma looked confused, “Use it? What are you talking about? You need all of them,” she opened her backpack to show the pile of glowing balls.

His mouth hanging open, Tien stared. “How did…” his eyes narrowed and he assessed Kakarot and Vegeta, “I see, they’re the muscle you’re using to get them.”

She sniffed indignantly, zipping the bag back up, “I’ll have you know I got three of them all on my own.”

Tien’s face was grave, “Just having one of them makes you immortal, I can’t imagine what having more would do.”

Bulma stared at him, raising an eyebrow dramatically, “Uh, look, I don’t know who you are. You literally just yanked us out of the woods and tossed us in your house. But I can assure you, one dragon ball does absolutely nothing on its own. It definitely doesn’t make you immortal,” she was clearly suppressing a laugh, “What kind of idiot would believe that?”

Vegeta had dropped his defensive stance and now stood warily with his arms crossed, “More importantly, why don’t you tell us what your problem is?”

Kakarot tried to imitate his frown and stance but wound up looking like he’d just eaten a sour plum and needed to relieve himself.

Tien flushed before bowing his head slightly, “I apologize for startling you.”

The woman who had stood behind him before glided into the room.

Kakarot stared at her feet suspiciously and frowned, “You’re not a witch, are ya? Cause ya sure move like one.”

She smiled, a little too wide, the expression almost menacing. She placed a pale hand on Tien’s shoulder, “Now, now. Why don’t you tell them what’s really going on?”

Vegeta was sure he saw Tien cringe and smiled in amusement. Boys were all the same, Bulma had said, but for all her strange appearance this blue-haired girl seemed every bit as bossy as Bulma was. Vegeta didn’t like being on the receiving end of that temper and was willing to bet neither did Tien, judging from his resigned sigh.

“Of course. Ah…from the beginning I suppose,’’ he gestured to the woman, “This is Lun Chu. She is uh…well, a ghost, an onyro,” he hurried on defensively, “I know what you’re going to say but just hear me out.”

Lun Chu disappeared with the end of his words, and her voice from behind them made Bulma jump.

“I’d listen to him if I were you.”

Before they could turn she was back in front of them, leaning casually against the wall.

“But then again, if I were you I wouldn’t be here,” she grinned again and Bulma shuddered.

Tien cleared his throat, “Yes. Well. I suppose the beginning was when I became an orphan. A martial arts master took me in and raised me as his own child. He taught me to fight, but more importantly to kill.”

Vegeta suddenly looked more interested, and Tien took the cue to direct the story at him.

“I became an assassin, killing those in power who were corrupt. It was my life, in my blood he said. I was the best student he’d ever had,” he gave a bitter laugh, “I guess I should have asked what happened to all his other pupils. Turns out it was a lie, all of it. The murders? Innocent people, pawns in a game only the world’s richest people play.”

He nodded wearily to Lun Chu, “She was the last death I was responsible for. I poisoned a man I was contracted to kill and it spread to her when she found his body. I hid out here to train, in hopes that one day I could grow strong enough to defeat my master, Shen.”

Tien’s eyes swung back to Bulma, “That’s how I knew about the Dragon Ball – Shen keeps one on him at all times,” he gave her a curious look, “Are you sure the ball doesn’t make you immortal? Shen is over 1,000 years old.”

Bulma’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head, and she stumbled over her words, “Wait, you’re – so if he…okay, are you fucking with us? Because if so, this is a sick joke to play.”

Lun Chu looked amused and Tien shook his head, “Honestly, that’s it. Lun Chu here says you’re…part of me redeeming myself. Whatever that means.”

The onyro tossed her head, “If I told you everything,” she said smoothly, “it could alter the outcome. Perhaps you are just bad at understanding riddles?”

Tien gestured at Bulma to the small table on the floor, “Please, sit. Why don’t you tell me how the dragon balls really work? I don’t know what most of what she says is supposed to mean, but if you’re part of my fate then there can’t be any harm in getting to know one another.”

“You could start by asking our names,” Kakarot grumbled.

Tien looked embarrassed, “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s been months since I’ve even seen another person and I guess I’ve forgotten my manners. My name is Tien, you probably heard me lecturing this one on it,” He jerked his thumb at Lun Chu, who stuck out her tongue at him.

Bulma gave a wave of her hand, “Don’t mind Kakarot here, he’s always grouchy when he hasn’t eaten. The angsty one is Vegeta, and I’m Bulma,” She leaned forward and smiled, a little too eagerly for Vegeta’s taste.

Rummaging through her backpack, Bulma pulled out her capsule case and removed a capsule from it. She tossed it onto the table which was immediately covered in food.

“There, now are you happy?”

Kakarot clapped his hands together gleefully, “Now that’s more like it!”

Tien looked impressed, “Hoi Poi capsules, eh? Haven’t seen one of those in a while.”

She gave a smug smile and pulled out the journal she was always scribbling away in. It fell open to the dragon ball section, belaying just how often she pored over those particular pages.

“See, you have to have all seven of them. _Then_ you can wish for something. On their own they’re practically worthless, just one can’t do anything.”

Vegeta seized the lull in the conversation, “So, you say you’ve killed before. Impressive for a human, everyone we’ve come across so far has been an incompetent weakling.”

Kakarot elbowed him, frowning, “Not Yamcha!” he protested, “You didn’t _really_ win, ‘member Vegeta? You said it was a tie.”

Vegeta flushed and a smile tugged at the corners of Tien’s mouth as he answered Vegeta, “I have, but I no longer consider it a point of pride.”

Vegeta shook his head, “You should be proud of your accomplishments. But you shouldn’t be hiding in the shadows, there’s no glory in taking a life if you can’t enjoy your victory.”

Tien leaned back, stretching before crossing his arms. He looked amused.

“Aren’t you a little young to be talking about glory and killing?”

Bulma snorted laughing, “Be careful, he might fight you over that.”

Tien waved his hand, “Another time, perhaps. It sounds like you’re in a hurry,” his voice turned serious, “But I must insist you give up this search for the dragon balls. If you are right, and you only need one more, it is in the possession of Shen. As easily as I handled you outside, he could kill me. What he would do to you, especially if he found out you had more dragon balls, would be much, much worse.”

Kakarot grinned, “You don’t know us, mister. We were just taken a little off guard, isn’t that right Vegeta? Bulma’s got her fancy dragon radar and we’ll sneak up on him for sure.”

Tien looked alarmed, “You plan on trying to take the ball from him? Are you crazy? Didn’t you hear anything I just said? He’s a _thousand-year-old_ assassin. You’ll die, it’s suicide!”

Bulma sniffed, “I appreciate your concern, but really, it’s misplaced. I’ve seen what these two can do, and I trust them to bring me back the ball, safe and sound.”

“This is madness, you’ll be killed, I’m telling you,” Tien insisted.

Impatience crept into Vegeta’s voice, “We all heard what Lun Chu said, we’re part of your _destiny,”_ he spat the word mockingly, “Judging by how you jump when she talks, I’m guessing she’s the real thing, ghost or not. If so, she’s right, and nothing will happen to us. As far as I can see, you don’t need our help with anything,” he stood, motioning at Bulma, “The Radar? Let Kakarot and I go, no need for you to risk this crazy Shen person figuring out you have the other six and trying to attack you for them.”

She nodded and pulled it out of her pocket to toss it to him. Tien threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Fine, have it your way. But I’m warning you, you’re walking into a trap.”

* * *

“You don’t suppose he was right, I guess?” Kakarot asked Vegeta as they flew towards the orange dot on the radar, “About us not bein’ strong enough I mean.”

Vegeta laughed, “Nonsense, he has no idea we’re coming. You can’t prepare for what you aren’t expecting, and we can track him perfectly with the radar,” he held it up again to glance at it, “We’ll be there and back before you know it.”

Kakarot nodded from his crouched position on Kinto Un, “I guess you’re right, we’ve been able to fight everything so far. I bet we coulda taken that old _onibi_ on too if Master Roshi wasn’t there.”

Vegeta nodded towards the ground and began to fly lower, “Come on, let’s go lower. We’re almost there and these trees are starting to thin out. Don’t want to lose the element of surprise.”

The dense woods rapidly gave way to smaller and smaller trees, until the land in front of them was a sea of tall grass and ragged bushes. The air was colder here, and in the distance towards the radar’s dot, the mountains were capped with snow that crept down their sides. The highest peaks were shrouded in thick clouds, impossibly tall at the end of a barren tundra.

They flew low, just hovering over the grass. As they drew closer, craggy recesses and small cave openings began to appear, washed out from centuries of melting snow. Rocky outcrops and piles of frozen boulders littered the foot of the mountain, some of them towering into crooked spires. Vegeta roughly grasped at Kakarot’s arm as he spotted a figure in the distance sitting on one of the ledges, apparently absorbed in carving something.

“That must be him, Shen,” Vegeta murmured, “Come on, let’s circle a bit to the side and take him together.”

Kakarot followed behind as Vegeta floated carefully between rock formations, sticking to the scant shadows they offered in the weak afternoon sun. The figure never moved all the while, absorbed in whatever he was making. He seemed completely oblivious to his assailants and Vegeta signaled to Kakarot to land just above and behind him. Grinning in anticipation, Kakarot crouched, ready to spring at Vegeta’s signal.

The slightest twitch of Vegeta’s fingers, and down they sailed. Vegeta’s fingers glowed as he leaped headfirst, his palm meeting Shen’s head in a flash of purple lightning. Kakarot fell to the ground with a solid thump as the figure’s image shimmered and disappeared. Vegeta’s ki blast hit the ground next to him as he landed clumsily in a crouch and Kakarot gave a yell of surprise.

A blow hit Vegeta solidly in the back, sending him sprawling on his face in the dirt, and he turned just in time to see a hazy Shen disappear from behind him. Seemingly in the same instant, he was in front of Kakarot, then gone again. A sinister laugh echoed off the icy rock walls as Vegeta spluttered in anger and scrambled to his feet.

Shen darted around them, moving so fast he was barely a visible blur. No matter how hard he tried, Vegeta couldn’t track his rapid movements. He seemed to be everywhere at once, and Vegeta was nearly certain there was more than one of him now. The memory of his defeat at old Gohan’s hands rankled in his mind and he clenched his jaw in frustration.

“So, this is what the Tokai send me. Two weak, brash children, too stupid to hide their own ki. Pathetic. You have failed in your task,” the voice sneered and taunted, “You should know well, the price of disappointing the Tokai.”

The blurs converged into one form, standing between them. Nothing prepared them for the shriveled figure in front of them. Stringy white mustaches hung down from his gaunt and hallow face, and his eyes were sunken into the skull like a dead man’s. The brightly colored silk of his gi seemed out of place against his papery skin, and his shoes hovered above the ground. He bore almost no resemblance to the figure they had attacked on the ledge.

Shen drew a hand from behind his back and Kakarot gasped in disgust. The flesh was shrunken, discolored, and bruised. The veins were black, creeping up the ghastly arm that remained hidden in his sleeve. Instinctively, Kakarot and Vegeta jumped back, both taking a defensive stance.

Eyes widening, he gave a sickening toothless smile, “Why don’t you try and take me? Having second thoughts about your duties?”

Needing no further coaxing, Vegeta hurled himself at his opponent, striking with a flurry of fists and kicks. His efforts were in vain, as Shen masterfully dodged every blow, barely moving all the while. Kakarot flanked him from the other side, his movements slower but more intense. None of their attacks landed, and Shen’s maniacal cackling was the only noise aside from their hard breathing and clumsy steps.

How long had they been fighting now? Minutes? Hours? He couldn’t tell. Time seemed nonexistent as everything but the fight fell away.

“Stop dodging, you coward, and fight us for real!” Vegeta shouted, his voice cracking from the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him.

“My, my,” Shen scolded as he continued to dodge, “It seems that even stealing my flight technique and that wretched Gohan’s Nyoibou isn’t enough to prepare you whelps for the task you’ve been set to,” he gave a dramatic sigh, “Perhaps it is time to end this farce. I think I’ve indulged your childish antics long enough.”

The scolding turned to a snarl with his last words, and Vegeta felt true fear for the first time in his life as Shen’s decrepit hand flew towards him. He had no time to react, to scream, to warn Kakarot. The hand touched Vegeta’s bare skin and seared his chest. Nausea overtook him, the edges of his vision swirling and blurring. His throat felt choked, and he clawed at his face as he dropped to his knees.

The look of terror on Kakarot’s face stabbed him in the chest like a dagger and he reached a shaky hand towards his friend before paralysis froze his body. Kakarot dropped to the ground, his body a dead weight and his eyes wide with fright.

“You have failed, and you will die here,” Shen sneered as he walked away.

Vegeta fought the darkness encroaching on his vision until his head spun.

_Just a second. Just have to catch my breath. I’ll…find him…_


	2. A Brush With Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta & Kakarot face down evil, at incredible risk to themselves.

Bulma had been pacing impatiently ever since Tien left. Lun Chu sat in the corner, fanning herself idly and complaining every time Bulma made an anxious comment. Bulma wasn’t entirely sure she believed in ghosts, but she figured it was better to be safe and _not_ annoy a potentially supernatural being too much. She bit her lip and glanced at the door again.

_Maybe just a little peek. It can’t hurt to look for them._

She reached for the door and jumped back with a loud squeak as Tien kicked it open. The door popped out of the track and clattered to the floor, just missing her feet as she tried to get out of the way. Tien easily carried the boys, one draped over either shoulder. Their skin looked white as fresh snow and they lay motionless.

Bulma covered her mouth with her hand in horror, “What happened to them?! Are they…” she trailed off, not wanting to voice her worst fears.

“Not if I can help it, they won’t be,” Tien was busying himself lying the boys down on the floor, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stripped them to the waist.

Guilt crept up Bulma’s spine as she moved closer. Kakarot looked even worse than Vegeta, black showing through their pale flesh in lumpy patches where the skin looked as if it were decaying from the inside. She fought the urge to vomit, to cry, to run at the sight of it.

_I never should have gotten them mixed up in this…_

Tien placed a hand on each of their bare chests before closing his eyes. The air above their skin shimmered and rippled as the black slowly crept through their veins towards his fingertips.

Without moving or opening her eyes, Lun Chu snapped her fan shut and disappeared. Bulma gaped at her empty chair.

“Is she…”

Tien shook his head, his eyes still closed, “She’ll be back. Now shut up, I have to concentrate. If I don’t work fast enough the poison will begin to spread again and kill them within minutes.”

His sharp tone took Bulma by surprise and she sat down across from him with her back to the wall. Drawing her knees up, she rested her chin on them and wrapped her arms protectively around her legs. She wasn’t used to being ordered around that was for sure, but being helpless was an even more foreign sensation. Maybe back at home, with her lab at her disposal, she could have been of some help, but here, she was forced to be a mere onlooker.

Long minutes dragged by and sweat beaded on Tien’s skin. His jaw worked in frustration and every muscle in his body seemed tense. Slowly, but visibly, the necrotic flesh changed shape, lost its swelling, and smoothed out as the blackness crept closer to Tien’s hands. He let out a groan through gritted teeth and a third eye opened on his forehead, taking Bulma by surprise.

Tien let out a sharp hiss of breath and the corruption seemed to transfer to his hands beneath his skin. Over and over, he drew the poison from their bodies and into his own, shuddering each time with the effort. Several hours passed and Bulma’s eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion. She watched with one eye barely open as Tien knelt, motionless and determined, his hands becoming increasingly more blackened.

“Can I help?” her voice was a low whisper. Despite her fatigue, the need to be useful burned at her.

Tien’s eyes were hollow. “Make some broth for them. They’ll be sleeping for some time now.” He rasped.

“I meant for you,” she gestured, climbing to her feet with him, “You uh, kinda mutated there,” she pointed at his forehead, indicating his third eye.

Tien stared at her for a moment. “I am entirely too exhausted for that conversation right now,” he held his now black hand up to stop her from interrupting, “I have to dispose of this…poison. Now, do you want to watch me die while we make small talk?”

Fighting back tears, Bulma made her way to the tiny kitchen and began rummaging through the scant cabinets. A few vegetables, some salt, and the remains from whatever was half-eaten in the refrigerator were all that greeted her. She sighed and set to work, trying to busy herself with chopping and push her worrying thoughts away. As she added the vegetables to the simmering water, her tears brimmed over. Hastily she wiped them away.

_Get it together, or at this rate, you won’t even need to add salt._

Satisfied that her broth could go unwatched, she stepped back into the main room and knelt next to Vegeta. Only a bit of color had returned to his skin, and his face was twisted in pain as he trembled in his sleep. She held the back of her hand to his forehead and frowned in concern. Usually, he mocked her for feeling like a human ice cube, but his normally warm skin was clammy and cool. He flinched at her touch and she jumped back as his arm brushed her leg. Tien came back through the door, giving her a curious look. Her face flushed as she quickly stood.

“I was just checking on them,” she fought to steady the tremble in her voice, “I think they need to be warmed up, somehow. Vegeta feels cold. They both do,” she added hastily.

Tien worked his wrists and shoulders, rolling his neck from side to side. “There is nothing you can do for them. They have to rest now, only time will show if they can recover,” he gazed at her intently, “Clearly, they aren’t human. Do you want to tell me what’s going on? I’ve never known anyone so eager to die.”

Weariness from the last several weeks rolled over Bulma in a rush. She’d pushed aside her trepidation with each new dragon ball, telling herself she’d deal everything when it was all over. Bulma took a deep breath, trying to read Tien’s impassible face as she forced herself to speak. Whoever he was, he had saved her friends from certain death. The man cavorted with spirits, sprouted extra eyes, and gave off lethal energy, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. If there was ever a time to explain, to get advice, this was it. True, her confidence had never wavered before, but she’d also never faced consequences like these.

She started with finding the dragon balls, awkwardly at first, stumbling over how she wanted to make a discovery of her own and get out from under her father’s shadow. She told him how she met Kakarot and Vegeta, of the former’s strange mannerisms and odd memory loss. When she got to Sumai and Yamcha, her words began to tumble over themselves, fragmenting her sentences as she tried to explain everything that had happened.

Tien said nothing as he sat in front of her, only listened intently. His silence only pushed her to tell more, and she stopped herself short of mentioning Vegeta’s nightmares and sleep talking. That would be too far, she decided, and of no use. She was certain at first, he detected her redirection, but pressed on anyway, ending with Gyumao’s warning about the Eastern capitol.

At the mention of the capitol, Tien’s face turned grave. When Bulma finally finished, he sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“All of this senseless violence, because of me.“

Bulma folded her hands on the table, picking her words carefully and wetting her lips, “I’ve told you our story, I think it’s only fair you tell me yours, now. Surely there’s more to you than being raised a killer and making a mistake?“

Lun Chu appeared next to Tien, who tensed. She was grinning too wide again and Bulma shifted her gaze away, uncomfortable. The blonde crept through Lun Chu’s hair. It seemed like a mood ring almost - golden when she was mocking and scolding, blue when she was relaxed.

“Yes, _mitsume_ _-jin,_ tell the girl,” her arms snaked around his neck and she purred in his ear. Tien flushed and cleared his throat, red creeping up his neck and straining his ears.

“I only found all this out because of Lun Chu here. Apparently,” he tried to shrug away from her, “King Yema sent her to make me ‘right my mistakes’ whatever that means.“

Bulma raised an eyebrow at him, “King Yema. The Decider.“

Lun Chu pouted and disentangled herself from Tien. Pulling a long, slender pipe seemingly out of nowhere, she retook her spot lounging on the floor.

“You doubt me, mortal?“

Her eyes were disinterested, but the hollowness behind them caught Bulma’s words in her throat.

Tien hurried on, smoothing the conversation over, “This Gyumao you mentioned, I’ve heard of him. The people laud him as a war hero, don’t they?“

Bulma nodded and he continued.

“I started that war, well, sparked it. My master, Shen, was behind it from the beginning. According to Lun Chu, he was hired by this fanatic to kill the Eastern governor and frame some local bandits for the murder. The man who gave the contract wound up invading the capitol and enacting martial law in the power vacuum,” Tien paused, giving Bulma a quizzical look, “I hope this isn’t too confusing for you.“

She tossed her head, a bit arrogantly, “I’ll have you know my family is incredibly well-respected in the political sphere; I’m not ignorant of what goes on in the world. I’ve heard about this, you can speak plainly.“

He seemed skeptical but continued, “After the war, the one your Gyumao friend fought in, the people elected a new leader. Apparently, he pissed off some powerful people, and they contacted the _Tokai_ to have him killed. Shen was a founding member of the _Tokai,_ and I was to carry out the contract as an initiation of sorts. He told me I could be one of them, that I could help cleanse the world of corrupt and evil people.“

Tien laughed bitterly, “He lied about everything, everyone I had ever killed for him, everyone _he_ ever killed. He told me this new leader was a fraud, that the people deserved to know; he said he was kidnapping orphans from the war and selling them.“

Bulma’s lips parted in disgust, “These… _Tokai_ , they’re a group of political assassins?“

Lun Chu inhaled from her pipe, heavily perfumed smoke billowing around her fingertips as she exhaled.

“Worse than that, girl. They are the rot that eats the world, the decay that destroys humanity,” she shook her head, eyes sad, “It is men like them who bring about the ends of worlds.“

 _Ooookay_ _then, sorry I asked._ Bulma mused ruefully.

“Anyway, when I carried out the assassination, I used the same poison _ki_ technique that Shen used on them,” Tien continued, “You saw how fast it spreads, how it transferred to me when I touched them,” he motioned to Lun Chu, “She was his assistant and found him dying before the poison wore off. She tried to help him and…well, it killed her too.”

Lun Chu poked him with the stem of her pipe. “And yet you sit here, while Shen continues to attack and endanger innocents. I thought you wanted to right your failures?” she gestured to the sleeping Saiyans, “Your path lies before you, and yet you rest.”

Tien slammed his fist on the table and Bulma jumped.

“I told you, I can’t kill him! These “instrumental” idiots nearly got themselves killed, they aren’t any use to me. I _can’t_ fight Shen, he would kill me before I ever got within striking distance, he nodded at Bulma, “And no hard feelings, but that gun of yours won’t work, no matter how good of a shot you are, so clearly it’s not you.”

He glared at Lun Chu. “So, unless you have something helpful to say that isn’t a riddle, or you can conjure up another fighter with some skill, you can quit reminding me of my debt. Running into a fight and dying won’t solve anything.”

The determination was strong in Bulma’s voice, “Maybe I _can_ help - if all you need is someone to fight with you. Oh, not me,” she continued quickly, “but I know someone; the guy I mentioned earlier that we traveled with to Fa Pan, Yamcha. He’s only Vegeta’s age, but…I heard him and Kakarot talking, and Yamcha is stronger than both of them. They said he knew some crazy ability, I don’t know what they were talking about, though.”

Tien looked at Lun Chu suspiciously. “You couldn’t have just been a _little_ clearer, onyro?”

She looked disinterested. “No.”

* * *

SEPTEMBER, 749

Gyumao’s long polearm flashed, grazing Yamcha’s shoulder as he dodged. The metal blade clanged against the stone in the square, ringing and echoing down the still-empty streets. For a man of such considerable size, Gyumao was agile and spry, his footwork never faltering as he drove Yamcha in a circle. The sun beat down on them and Yamcha blinked away the sweat dripping from his brow, refusing to move his hands from their defensive position.

It was only his third day in Fa Pan, so Yamcha was surprised when the Gyumao offered to train with him. ‘A young mind needs constant sharpening’ Gyumao had said, before giving him a hearty slap on the shoulders. He prodded Yamcha for details about his abilities that evening, although it took the better part of the night and most of the wine at the table. His interest seemed piqued most when Yamcha brought up the wolf fang fist technique.

Yamcha had no chance to use it yet; it was all he could do to withstand the flurry of blows Gyumao directed at him. Gyumao had offered him a polearm to use, but Yamcha preferred not to be learning a new skill while attempting to hold his own with such an experienced warrior - even if it was just a practice match.

He blocked the end of the polearm, putting all his strength into knocking it back. A hint of a smile tugged at Gyumao’s lips and his eyes narrowed in concentration. The elaborate dance was draining, not a single second lent relief as Yamcha searched for an opening. One finally came, but not in the way he would have liked. Sumai called out to them from across the square, halting their practice.

Yamcha panted heavily, grinning at Gyumao and shaking his head, “At this rate, I’m not sure I’ll get the chance to show you the _roga_ _-_ _fufuken_. It’s all I can do to keep up.”

Gyumao gave him an approving nod as Sumai approached, “Don’t worry, I have a feeling you just need the right teacher to improve.”

Concern tingled from Sumai through the bond, and her smile was hesitant as Yamcha turned to face her.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, but Bulma called. It sounded really important, so I told her I’d talk to you right away.”

“Are they okay?” he asked, concerned, “They’ve only been gone a day.”

Sumai shook her head, “The guy who has the last dragon ball attacked them and almost killed them, but they met someone who used to help him. The whole thing sounded crazy at first, and I had to get Bulma to start over again twice because she was so worried and rambling. His name is Tien - the one who helped them, and he used to be a student of this guy who has the dragon ball, Shen.

“Anyway, Shen betrayed Tien or something, so this crazy ghost girl showed up to help them take down Shen. Bulma said she has some kind of prophetic power and keeps insisting that you’re the only one who can help Tien take this Shen person down.”

Yamcha stared at her, his mouth slightly agape, “Is she serious? Sumai, we talked about this, I don’t want to keep getting mixed up in all this crazy dangerous dragon ball stuff. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to Bulma for helping us and Gyumao for taking us in, but what does some spat between a student and his teacher have to do with me?” he softened his voice a bit, “Family first, that means you.”

She placed his hand between both of hers, “I asked the same thing. Yamcha…Shen was behind the assassination that sparked off the Eastern war and sent all the refugees west. He’s the reason you lost everything. You have a chance to have a family now, a real-life, but if he isn’t stopped…”

Yamcha winced.

_It’s like I can’t escape, no matter how far I go. I’ll never be safe from losing everything again._

Gyumao frowned deeply, “This is serious. Spirits often carry warnings, but never for anything unimportant. Yet this is a dangerous task, taking down an assassin. Shouldn’t this matter be handled by the authorities? I still have some contacts from my time in the Continental Army, I could send word.”

Sumai shook her head, “Bulma said that ghost girl is an _onyro_ , and Tien won’t let anyone go against what she says. Her name is ‘Lunch’ or something; she insists that Yamcha has to be a part of taking down Shen, and no one else.”

Concern painted Gyumao’s face, “Onyro are serious business. They’re sent back to earth when they die before their time, to possess vessel bodies and influence events until the circumstances of their death are set right,” his expression turned grave, “Interfering with their directives can be disastrous. If she says you’re destined to go…it’s not wise to resist.”

“Come, we should let her know you will be on your way immediately,” Gyumao placed a gentle hand on Yamcha’s shoulder, “Don’t worry. We all have our place in fate. I’m sure you have much destiny in store for you yet. You’re resilient and courageous, and I can sense you’re a fast learner. You’ll be fine.“

* * *

Yamcha checked the GPS on the car Gyumao had lent him against the coordinates Bulma had provided.

_This must be the place._

The house was tiny, and right on the edge of the sea. It looked as if it were one heavy storm away from being washed right off its foundation. He forced himself out of the car and sighed heavily. Responsibility and duty haunted him, crushed him. The weight of expectations - expectations he wasn’t sure he could fulfill - terrified him. He had accomplished nothing with his life, save survive. Even protecting Sumai had felt lackluster once he realized Baba could pull her back to safety at any moment. And yet, here he was, showing up at a stranger’s house to fulfill an order of fate?

If he failed now, as then, the outcome would remain the same. He would die, alone, and the world would continue without him. He kept that fear, the knitted dread, tucked carefully away in the corner of his mind. A corner Sumai wasn’t likely to look. It was a little shameful, he knew, but the idea of her knowing how weak he was - no, she couldn’t know. He would be brave until the end, whether his end or his enemy’s. He only hoped this “Lunch” hadn’t made a mistake.

Yamcha raised a hand to rap on the cottage door, steeling himself and taking a deep breath.

_No turning back now._

It opened almost immediately, and Bulma’s eyes misted over as she threw her arms around him. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered.

He awkwardly hugged her back, patting her shoulder gently. The emotional display was unusual for her, and it took him by surprise. She sniffed and pulled away, wiping gingerly at the corners of her eyes.

“You must be Yamcha, I am Tien,” a grave voice came from the other room.

* * *

_A wolf ran with Vegeta through the trees, its shadow skipping across the rough trunks in the sharp moonlight. The air was cold, and his muscles burned against the freezing wind. The forest seemed unending; he felt like he had been running for days, but the wolf would not leave his side. Something was chasing them both. Something too horrible for words._

_A crane stepped into view at the edge of the woods, in a clearing that had not been there a second ago. Slow and elegant, it stepped silently across the leaf-strewn floor, its proud head held high. If the bird was there, it must be safe. He looked back furtively for the wolf. Fog rolled across the ground behind him, obscuring the animal. But he was still there. He could hear the panting, feel the urgency. They would run, together._

_His body was reaching its limit, he would never make it to the crane, to the clearing, he would die in the jaws of whatever pursued the wolf and him. With his last burst of energy, he jumped, trying to fly with the momentum. To his horror, the crane turned to look at him, it’s eyes cruel and calculating. The long beak widened, grew horrifying and huge enough to swallow him whole; Vegeta tried to stop but it was too late. He shut his eyes and waited for imminent death._

* * *

_Kakarot_ _flew high in the sky, on the crane’s back, its wings beating silently. It shone brilliant white in the moonlight, and he squinted into the forest below. He had to find Vegeta, had to save him. Something was chasing him, hunting to kill. He realized Vegeta was not alone. A wolf ran alongside him, despite the distance between them. Or was it the thing that hunted? His blood chilled and he urged the crane to the ground where the trees separated._

_Fog rushed towards Vegeta as they dipped, and_ _Kakarot_ _lost sight of them both. He jumped from the crane before it landed, hitting the ground soundlessly and balancing himself with his tail. Now was not the time to worry about appearances and propriety, it would stay unwrapped. Losing his balance could mean death, for himself or Vegeta._

_Vegeta appeared from the mist, flying through the air;_ _Kakarot_ _opened his mouth to scream, to tell Vegeta he was safe, but no noise came out. The crane turned, and_ _Kakarot_ _’s eyes widened in horror as it opened its rapidly-growing beak to devour him. The safety of the clearing had been a trap, and he had unknowingly led Vegeta right into it._

_But the crane did not devour Vegeta, nor did it devour the wolf that came hurtling through the fog after him. The wolf had been carrying a passenger, unseen to either of the Saiyans. The two of them, wolf and rider, lunged at the crane, somehow remaining in shadow despite the light in the clearing. The crane staggered backward, letting out an unearthly cry as it was knocked off its feet._

_The Saiyans stood helpless, frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but watch. The crane flew and swooped, diving to kick at the rider who dodged expertly. The wolf spun on its heels, kicking up leaves and disappearing into them. The crane grew smaller and the rider towered over it, dancing out of range of its shrinking beak. A snarl erupted from the edge of the shadows and the wolf burst from the ground, snapping its jaws around the crane’s tiny body._

* * *

Bulma wrung her hands together, watching and Vegeta and Kakarot tossed and sweated in their sleep. Tien and Yamcha had gone outside nearly as soon as Yamcha arrived. Tien insisted there was no time to lose and they had to start right away. Yamcha complained of being tired from his morning with Gyumao, to which Tien responded by shoving a pill at him. Bulma had gaped, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. It was Red Ribbon contraband, a stimulant that had been outlawed almost as soon as it was released.

_Tien wasn’t kidding about his upbringing…_

Bulma kept her mouth shut though. She wasn’t about to argue with Tien or ask where he got it. It might lead to questions about how _she_ knew what it was. Vegeta kept mumbling in his sleep, snapping her out of her errant train of thoughts. She wanted to lean closer to listen, but the idea of being so close turned her stomach fluttery.

 _He’s dangerous._ She reasoned with herself. _Who knows what he could do in his sleep._

Kakarot, too, slept fitfully. She frowned. Nearly as soon as Tien and Yamcha went outside, their nightmares began. They were yelling with exertion in the courtyard, and with each blow, she heard exchanged Kakarot and Vegeta seemed to become tenser.

_Can they hear what’s going on?_

Vegeta sat bolt upright, flailing and yelling, “Kakarot!“

Bulma jumped at the sudden movement and immediately tried to soothe Vegeta. She reached for his arm and he jerked away, wide-eyed and frantic.

* * *

“What did you do with Kakarot?!” Vegeta demanded, struggling to sit upright. His head spun and his stomach lurched, forcing him back down. He leaned on his elbows and squinted, trying to clear his head.

Before Bulma could answer, Kakarot gasped next to him, his eyelids flying open, “Vegeta! You’re alright! But Shen…” he too, struggled to sit but failed.

Reality set in and Vegeta became intently aware of Bulma staring at them both, her face white. “You’re alive…” she whispered.

Frantically, Vegeta looked down at his chest, at the spot where Shen had touched him. He narrowed his eyes, straining to focus on the blurry Kakarot next to him.

_I watched Shen grab him…the black spread across his face. Was it a dream?_

Kakarot’s voice was croaky and dry, “What happened? I saw the crane die and then…suddenly we were here.“

Bulma reached for the damp towel and gently laid it on his forehead. “You both were having a nightmare, I guess. There’s no crane here. Tien brought you back, from Shen. He…he saved you.“

Vegeta coughed weakly, hazy memories flitting through his mind in a jumble. He struggled to separate them from the dream. He wanted to ask a million questions, but exhaustion overcame him. His eyelids slid shut against his will.

_I’ll figure it out…later…just need to rest._

Bulma’s voice echoed, “Vegeta? Are you okay? Vegeta?“

* * *

The sun slunk behind the trees, and still, Yamcha and Tien trained. The capsule Tien had produced, true to his word, had lent Yamcha an energy he’d never felt before. He should have been exhausted, yet he had as much energy as when he arrived. Tien had no interest in teaching Yamcha to fight, he had explained. They had one job - kill. Yamcha had protested hotly, his recent decision to give up his revenge against Gyumao still fresh in his heart. Why couldn’t, they just talk to Shen, he had asked.

But Tien had brooked no arguments. He spoke as if he already knew the outcome, already knew Yamcha would cave. Tien painted a short but bloody picture of what Shen would do unchecked, reminding Yamcha of the far-reaching effects of Shen’s previous murders. It seemed that killing and bloodshed were to be his only inheritance, and Yamcha resigned himself to his fate, too emotionally exhausted to fight it any longer.

Tien spent the first hour explaining how to sense and hide ki, to quiet body and mind both. Yamcha had surprised him with his focus and ease of learning to cloak. Sensing Tien proved to be a harder task, as each time he would conceal his ki more and more. Again, and again, Yamcha sought calm in his mind as his father had taught him. There was calm in the darkness, the stillness, the quiet.

He moved to anatomy then, explaining in detail where Shen’s weaknesses lie, how he moved and where Yamcha could expect a window to strike. Yamcha knew more about the human body than he wanted now, nerve locations, the pressure needed to break a bone, the force required to open flesh, how long the brain could survive without oxygen. It was grueling, sickening; it felt like reducing man to an animal being hunted for food.

No explanation came without a threat, veiled or otherwise. Tien cautioned about every choice, detailing every potential negative outcome. Again, and again he hounded Yamcha with emphasis on efficiency, precision, calculation, and strategy. He must be cruel, Tien said, unfeeling and without remorse, that the slightest hesitation would mean death. The possibility of failure hung ever over them, the threat that urged him to focus, the fear that spurred his heels. Terror ruled that first day with Tien.

* * *

“Tell me, how is it that you learn so fast? Yesterday you were broadcasting your ki for all the East to see, and now I have to track your heartbeat to find you.“

Yamcha dodged the flurry of blows with increasing speed, anticipating each of Tien’s strikes.

_Evade. Block. Disappear._

“My father was our tribe’s most respected warrior. He didn’t teach me much, but I watched him every day. He taught me to focus, the _surrender,_ he called it.”

Tien turned to kicks now, dancing around Yamcha. “That’s quite a heritage, then. Maybe we aren’t doomed after all.“

The nihilistic statement surprised Yamcha. He had been under the impression that Tien refused to accept failure as a possibility.

_Spin. Duck. Spring._

“Surely in all that time watching, you must have learned something useful?”

The dance ended abruptly, and Yamcha caught his breath, finding himself wishing the capsule he’d taken the day before lasted longer. He bent over, placing his hands on his knees and inhaling deeply.

“I am of the _Okami no Kiba_ tribe.“

A strange look slipped onto Tien’s face, if only for a moment. “The Wolf Fang? Well then, that certainly changes things,” he was silent for a minute, contemplating, “They day you live with the demons of the forest, that they answer your command. Is this the skill you learned?“

Yamcha snorted derisively and spat on the ground, “We _are_ the demons. Or we were, anyway. My people did not hunt with weapons, but with ki. There is a technique, called _Wolf Fang Fist_ , that could take down even the largest prey.“

Tien crossed his arms, “Well, enough of the history lesson, let’s see it. You’re going to need every advantage possible, maybe we can turn this fist of yours into something capable of taking Shen out.“

On one hand, the idea of trotting out his father’s memory for this assassin-turned-avenger was less than ideal. But Tien was right, they needed everything they could get. Yamcha nodded curtly, taking a low crouching stance. He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. This time, he concealed his ki, completely. He would make this time perfect. No mistakes, this was not showing off to Vegeta.

He stood on a pond in his mind, it’s bottom invisible beneath the rippling surface. Here, the wind disturbed it. The birds sang, the sun shone on his back, the breeze lifted his shirt and brushed his skin.

_Irrelevant. Seek the calm. Sink._

He let himself slip below the water, letting go of the noise, the light, his worry over his family, his fear of failure, his frustration over killing. Every distraction and errant thought he let go, sinking further into blackness as he calmed his mind. His feet touched the bottom.

_Empty. Calm. Nothing. Nothing but the wolf._

His worries could not reach him here, his enemies could not touch him. He was one with the wolf, he was the wolf, running in the darkness, the shadows.

* * *

Tien had been impressed with Yamcha’s inherited technique, and even offered what seemed strangely enough like genuine praise. But his admiration did not last, and the next day the grueling strictness was back. He had let slip here and there bits about his relationship with Shen, and Yamcha got the sense that even without being driven by an onyro, Tien would have pursued this path eventually.

There was something reckless in him, inhuman and unfeeling. He saw things as black and white, and for him, Shen was the darkest kind of evil. Yamcha suspected (not knowing how right he was) that this zealous dedication was the same fervor with which Tien had approached his assassinations in the past. But such dogged determination does not often leave the people who possess it when they change, it merely takes on a new motivation.

“Today,” Tien began, “is the most important part. You must learn to disappear. From sense, from hearing, from sight. Use your surroundings to your advantage, make sure your target never suspects anything could be out of the ordinary. Children play hide and seek, surely you’re familiar?“

Yamcha blinked, surprised at the unexpected joke, but nodded.

“Good. Slip into the forests. You should know by now how to conceal your ki. We’ll spend all day at this if need be until I can’t find you anymore,” Tien turned his back, facing the house, “You have thirty seconds to disappear.“

* * *

Tien smiled. Yamcha’s ki had winked out just as expected, followed by the slow fading of his heartbeat.

_He’s getting good at this. We might have a chance yet._

His eyes closed, Tien followed Yamcha’s nearly-silent steps in his mind.

_Crunch. Swoosh. Stumble._

Then, complete silence. He frowned.

_How did I lose him?_

The thirty seconds were up. Tien crept through the trees, towards the last heartbeat. The air was dead still, not a single leaf fluttered. If Yamcha so much as blinked, he would find him. He was certain of that.

The afternoon sun presented generous shadows, and the orange light dappled across the leaves and ground. Curious of the humans in their home, small birds cocked their heads, watching Tien creep through the foliage. To anyone else, it would have seemed he wandered aimlessly. The nearly imperceptible tracks were only visible to Tien’s skilled and practiced eyes and led a clear trail to the largest tree in the copse.

_He tried to pick the easiest._

Certain he’d found his apprentice, Tien darted around the corner to the shade - and found nothing.

_There’s no way I tracked wrong. I heard him, he was right here. It was completely silent after, there’s no way he moved._

“So, I can fool even you?” Yamcha’s voice called out. The birds startled and flew from their perch at the sudden noise.

Tien whirled, looking in the direction of the voice. Yamcha was close, he knew. The saplings in that direction, however, were young. The clear effort of regrowth after logging, the skinny trees wouldn’t even have concealed a child behind their slender trunks.

_So why can’t I see him?_

From the corner of his vision, Tien saw movement. Seemingly out of thin air, Yamcha stepped forward, his usually frustrated expression replaced by one of almost arrogance, pride. The sliver of shadow falling from the young tree was barely as wide as his hand, yet it had cloaked Yamcha entirely. He stepped from it like it was a portal.

Tien stared, mouth gaping, “That’s impossible! You’re…a _shadow walker_? No one has had that Talent for over three hundred years. Yamcha, you’re a natural,” he shook his head in disbelief.

“What’s a shadow walker?“

“Legend says that the first humans to inhabit these woods were so in tune with nature that even the shadows would protect them. From invaders, or from prey during a hunt. But as the forest shrank and died, and civilization encroached, the people lost their connection with the earth. Their heads were filled with greed, and their hearts with corruption and war.“

“Can’t argue with you there,” Yamcha muttered bitterly.

Tien tilted his head at the remark but decided against addressing it, “If you can master this shadow walking, we can take down Shen. He has tried many times to attain the ability for himself and has failed. He can’t account for it, and that gives us an edge.“

* * *

For three days, Bulma had watched over Kakarot and Vegeta, while Tien and Yamcha trained from sunup to sundown. They broke only to eat, which, thanks to a tiny garden Tien kept turned out better than the meager soup she’d managed to cobble together the first day there.

The nightmares came back every time the Saiyans fell asleep, but she avoided mentioning them. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know. The warrior society they described sounded brutal, violent, and unforgiving. Any nightmare horrifying enough to scare two teenagers unfazed by an alien spartan life was nothing she wanted to hear about.

She scribbled away in her journal, planning every test she would subject the metal to once she got her wish. Her thoughts were only interrupted by Lun Chu appearing at seemingly unrelated intervals. Despite Bulma’s efforts, the onyro remained a mystery. She refused to divulge anything about herself and spent most of her time sitting in the open window, watching Tien and Yamcha.

Lun Chu’s smoky voice startled her yet again. “Even a wolf can be tamed when the hand is that of destiny.” She smiled as Tien and Yamcha came through the door.

 _I didn’t even notice her appear this time._ Bulma grit her teeth.

“You’re back inside early today, is something wrong?”

“Yamcha here,” Tien gave him a quick side glance, “seems to be quite the natural. I thought we would be here for months, but in just these days…” he shook his head and addressed Lun Chu, “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?“

The onyro tossed her wild blue curls, “I told you, I know all. Are you going to keep whining about your fate, or do something with your newfound weapon?“

Yamcha’s eyes flashed, “I am not a weapon to be used. I’m my own person and I _chose_ to come here. I could have said no.“

Lun Chu looked amused, “Is that so?“

“Ignore her, Yamcha. We have plans to make,” Tien said sternly, “Tomorrow we will go after Shen.“

Delete Created with Sketch.

“If I fight him alone, he’ll kill me. But that’s what gives us the advantage.“

Yamcha snorted, “I don’t see how that helps at all.“

“Shut up. Shen will, undoubtedly, think his precious Tokai have turned me against him. If he thinks he can beat me because he thinks I’m alone, he won’t be as guarded. He might even slip up, be lazy. Information is as valuable as training, and we have something he doesn’t know about.“

“You mean me.“

“Yes. You and your shadow walking.“

“And you think that’s enough to defeat him?“

“As long as you choose the right moment to strike. We should agree on a word, something I will say that you can hear. Then you must not hesitate.“

“And if I miss?“

“Then we both die.“

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Shen sensed Tien’s energy the second he approached.

_So, he’s come back, has he?_

He remained seated in front of the fire in the floor, his back turned to the dead bodies of the house’s previous occupants.

A sharp _thunk!_ sounded against the door, and Tien’s energy began to fade.

_Interesting._

Paranoia prevented him from reacting immediately, but after an hour or so had passed, he finally rose and opened the door. A dagger stood wedged into the wood, a note attached to it.

_Meet me at sunset where the crow flies with the dawn._

_It is time for you and me to settle the score between us._

* * *

Yamcha crouched, unmoving, watching Tien and keeping his ears sharp for any approaching noise. Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck, and he sought the mental calm of the pond. Every falling leave, every jumping bug, dragged him back to the surface. He struggled to remain silent.

Tien did not move, he merely stood in the spot he had chosen. The place where Shen trained him, he had explained. Yamcha was not sure he would come if what little Tien had told him about the cruel assassin was true. The plan was to taunt him, lull him into thinking Tien was ready to die fighting.

 _“You can’t let yourself be surprised by anything you see. It is an illusion, nothing more. Many martial techniques are meant to trick the eye and mind. I may not appear human at some points.”_ Tien had warned him. The man had a third eye, Yamcha dared not think how much stranger he could look.

If the sweat on his neck had been cold before, the feeling that swept over Yamcha now was the ice of death. The malicious energy that was coming towards them was enormous, ravenous, threatening. Still unused to being able to distinguish between and pick up on ki, Yamcha steeled himself against the sensation.

_Just bide your time. Tien will signal. Let the shadows hold you. Observe your prey…your target._

Shen stepped into view then, walking around Tien’s side before facing him with an appraising gaze.

“So,” he drawled, his words haughty, “the whelp has decided to bite its master. The question is, does the whelp move on its own? Or has he found a new master?”

Tien’s voice was clear, the anger sharpening his words like cut glass, “Did you really think that you could hide who you truly are forever? I know the real reason you had me kill all those people.”

His body shimmered and Yamcha blinked as a second Tien separated, then a third, a fourth, a fifth. The group of Tien’s began to circle Shen, continuing in the same deadly calm tone.

“Blood money,” the five Tiens hissed in unison, “Cold-blooded murder. Selfishness. You made me a glorified mercenary, filling my head with stories of noble causes while you grew rich on blood money.”

“Do you honestly think such a tired trick will work on me?” Shen snorted, “And here I thought maybe you amounted to something more than a gutter rat after all. You challenge me, demand I meet you, all so you can show off your childish antics? I thought you a proper student of the Great Crane Master,” he sneered, “ _Dodon!_ ”

A bright orb appeared on his finger and fired towards one of the Tiens, who disappeared out of the line of attack in a blur. In a sweeping motion, the beam nearly dispatched the illusory copies until only the Tien furthest from the blast remained. His third eye blazed open and he thrust his open hands towards Shen. The ground rumbled in waves, ripping the grass apart and splitting the earth open. Forest debris flew up through the air, but Shen never budged. It was a breeze trying to move a boulder.

“How could you betray me?!” Tien shouted over the shock waves and rippling air, “Your prized student!”

He fired a series of rapid blasts, finally causing Shen to take a fighting stance. His barrage was no match for Shen’s speed, and Yamcha struggled to keep up with their movements even with the help of ki and the focus of the pond.

“Somewhere out there is another whore with a bastard just waiting for death,” Shen gloated as he dodged and deflected the destruction, “Some pitiful, miserable mortal making a pathetic excuse of a life. I’ll relieve her of her burden, and gain a new student.”

A flurry of ki daggers whistled through the air, missing Tien by mere inches.

“Perhaps, this new brat won’t turn out to be a filthy coward and a traitor. Perhaps they’ll prove a worthy student.“

Tien roared, and Yamcha watched in horror and amazement as another pair of arms sprouted from his back.

“You’re pathetic, you’ve fallen so low now that you’ll murder innocent women and take their children?” he danced around Shen, slashing and striking with his four arms.

Shen’s laugh sounded straight from the grave and his teeth glinted in the setting sun like fangs, “Where do you think I got you from, traitor?”

He still avoided every attack with apparent ease. Yamcha felt the rage bursting from Tien as his face turned scarlet. The sudden increase in ki intensity even caught Shen’s attention.

“You don’t mean to tell me you believed that your mother just abandoned you on my doorstep?”

He threw back his head and laughed again, sending shivers down Yamcha’s spine. Despite the taunting, Shen’s heart rate remained steady.

_The most dangerous prey is always a man._

“Stupid child.”

He spun, dodging several strikes while landing a solid kick to Tien’s gut, sending him hurtling back.

“I burned your village to the ground, boy; I ripped you from your mother’s arms while she was still bleeding, and I’ll do the same again if it means another blind puppet.“

Tien leapt back and into the air, placing his hands on either side of his face.

“ _Solar flare!” h_ e cried, plunging them both into a blinding white light.

The same instant, Shen was already behind him and sent Tien flying with a kick to the back.

_Just like we planned. He baited Shen, and now he’s rushing._

Tien’s body twisted lithely in the air, and he hit the ground facing Shen on the balls of his feet in a cloud of dirt, sliding backward with his hand balancing on the ground.

“You’ll never get the chance! I’ll stop you here and you will never kill again!“

Shen’s face twisted into a truly monstrous snarl and he flew towards Tien. Blow for blow, they dashed back and forth, from the air to the tree branches to the ground and back again. Yamcha was sure Tien had the upper hand until he remembered what Tien told him about Shen’s propensity to hold back in the beginnings of fights and toy with his opponent like a cat with prey. Despite the rain of blows Tien unleashed on Shen, the master assassin never flagged or slowed, never staggered from an attack. He never took a solid blow.

“I can feel your pathetic ki fading, ebbing. Did you think you stood a chance?” he mocked Tien as he laid a particularly savage punch to his ribs.

Blood spurted from Tien’s mouth, and Shen appeared again behind him, knocking him to the ground and placing a foot on the back of his neck.

“When I’m done with you,” Shen continued, “I just might put a hold on finding a new fanatical pupil.“

Tien screamed in agony as Shen ripped one of the arms from his back. The hair on Yamcha’s arms stood on end.

_He told me it was an illusion…stay calm…focus._

“I’ll go for the Tokai next, and one by one,” his words were punctuated by increasing pressure on Tien’s neck, “I’ll kill them all.”

Another arm went flying and Tien’s body convulsed. Tien fired a small ki blast upwards towards Shen’s face, causing the assassin to pull back. Tien sprang to his feet and faced his enemy with renewed vigor. Yamcha was surprised by the lack of blood.

 _So, an illusion you can feel._ He shuddered in spite of himself.

“You think you’re untouchable, but your judgment has come from beyond the grave. You call us mortals, but in the end, you’re nothing but a frightened child yourself.” Tien’s ki began to swell, cracking the earth around his feet. “Your paranoia eats at you like your poison does others, and it shows what you are, a filthy parasite!“

His fingers were steepled together with his last words, “KIKOHO!” he screamed.

_Parasite. That’s it. Move, while Shen is bracing for the Kikoho._

Yamcha snarled, lunging from the bushes. He could smell the arrogance on his prey, the evil. The stench filled his nose and chills raced down his spine as he neared his target. His blood ran cold.

_Roga…_

His bared teeth shone in the waning sunlight, stark in contrast to his dark face and hair. Red filled his eyes, rage taking over his mind in a hazy mist that reduced his focus to one desire - _kill._

_Fu Fu Ken!_

Blood spurted from Shen’s mouth as Yamcha’s hand burst through his chest, fingers gripping his heart with nails like claws. The mangled organ shuddered, gushing over Yamcha’s fingers and running down his arm. Shen looked down in dismay, his eyes glazing over as he clutched feebly at his fractured ribs and the destroyed flesh around them.

Yamcha ripped his arm back through the dark, sucking hole in Shen’s torso, letting the heart roll to the ground with a sickening squelch. Shen buckled at the knees as his eyes rolled back into his head. He fell lifelessly in a mangled heap at Tien’s feet, a slick pool of blood seeping out from beneath his corpse.

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Tien’s breath hitched in his chest.

_It’s over. It’s finally done._

Yamcha stood in front of him, wiping his hands on his pants, disgust plain on his features.

“We did it…he’ll never hurt anyone again.” Tien moved to congratulate Yamcha but stopped short when he saw his face, black with anger.

“We’re the same now…” Yamcha muttered.

He met Tien’s eyes, his gaze raging with raw pain and betrayal, “I’m a murderer now, taught nothing besides how to kill. My first teacher, my first lesson, was in bloodshed.“

Tien tried to argue, to answer, but his mouth felt stiff and heavy; his tongue refused to work. Yamcha brushed past him. “Tell Bulma, we’re through. I never want to see them again.“

Without another word, Yamcha strode off into the forest, leaving Tien alone with a growing mountain of guilt.

_What else what I supposed to do? How is it that no matter what path I take, pain and destruction follow in my wake?_

He crouched wearily, staring at Shen’s corpse. Somewhere overhead, a raven cawed.

_They know death is here._

Tien forced himself to reach for the pocket tied to Shen’s waist and wriggled the dragon ball free. He still half expected his former teacher to rise up and strike him down, despite the carnage inflicted on him. Dark crimson blood stained the shiny surface where it had soaked through the fabric. He stared up at the sky, his eyes seeking the scavengers he knew were lurking in the trees.

Dark wings fluttered from the top of the branches and he watched as the bird circled through the air. Death was here, and Tien hoped it was the last one on his hands. He dragged himself back to the house, defeated, avoiding Bulma’s eyes from the door where she was waiting. Her gaze shifted to behind him and she frowned, concern growing.

“Tien, where is Yamcha?”

Pain flashed in Tien’s eyes as he met her gaze.

“He’s gone. He’s not coming back,” he brushed past her roughly into the house.

“What happened? Tien?“

He whirled on her, “You told me he could help; that he was capable. Did you know he’d never killed anyone before? Did you know you were forcing him to murder for the first time in his life?“

“I…I didn’t -” she faltered.

“That’s right, you didn’t know,” he angrily ran his hand over his head, “And neither did I. What Yamcha did today, it destroyed him. He did it because he felt it was necessary, that it was his duty.“

“The dragon balls,” she started.

“Oh yes, the precious ball,” he tossed it to her, “I hope it was worth it.“

She clasped the bright orb in her hands, her stomach swaying a bit at the smear of blood still on it.

_I can’t fail now. I have to summon this ‘Eternal Shen Long’ and analyze them. Once I can replicate the balls’ abilities I can help more people, perfect my research…it will all be worth it. I’m sorry Yamcha…forgive me._

* * *

“I summon you, Eternal Shen Long! Come forth and grant my wish!“

The dragon balls pulsed and flowed in front of Bulma, brightening until they were nearly white. She squinted her eyes up at the sky, trying to avoid the glare from the balls. Thick clouds rolled in from the ocean, darkening the sky and streaking it with heat lightning. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the earth vibrated beneath her feet.

Sparks flew from the balls and she yelped, jumping back. Light spiraled up from them, swirling into a vortex and racing to the blackened sky. The shining beams twisted and contorted in shape until they formed a dragon. The gold faded to a rich deep jade cascade of shimmering scales. The dragon’s head split open with a mighty roar that threatened to bring Tien’s cottage down on itself.

“What is your wish?” the dragon commanded.

Bulma swallowed hard, fighting to keep the fear out of her voice. This was not what she had been expecting.

_No turning back now, I guess._

“I wish for a brick of iron - exactly twenty centimeters on each side.“

Shen Long was silent for a moment, then emitted a deep roaring grumble, “That is a simple wish. It has been granted.“

Light flashed again, and Bulma squeaked as the iron brick dropped with a thud to the ground in front of her feet. To her amazement, the dragon balls began to float, higher and higher towards Shen Long. He threw back his head, roaring and disappearing in a flash of light. Bulma shaded her eyes with her hands and gasped. The dragon balls were flying in nearly every direction, speeding away like glittery comets. Before she could process what was happening, they and the dragon were gone.

“Shit!” She fumbled with her belt pocket for the radar, clicking it on frantically.

The screen flashed on and she felt the metal creak beneath her grip as she squeezed it in impatience. There were no orange dots on the screen. She zoomed out, further, wider, as far as the radar could detect.

The dragon balls were nowhere to be seen.


	3. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamcha's recent victory costs him, and Bulma must find a way to live with the price.

SEPTEMBER, 749

Yamcha slunk through the trees, his footsteps noiseless on the soft grass. Dread knotted in him with every step he took towards Fa Pan. Somewhere to the north, a wolf howled. Its companions answered in kind, and Yamcha fought the urge to call back, to slip into the wooded shadows and leave everything behind.

_I belong here, in the forest, surrounded by animals. Animals who kill. Because that’s what I am now - no, what I’ve always been. I just didn’t know it._

* * *

Bulma peered into the wide screened window on the front of Kame House, cupping her hands around her face. It seemed to be empty, despite the lights and TV being left on. On the screen, an athletic woman in a fitted leotard danced around the screen, calling out encouragement aimed at her viewers.

_Strange,_ _Kakarot_ _and Chi didn’t mention anyone living with Master Roshi._

She stepped to the side of the window and knocked on the door again, harder this time.

“Hello! Mister Turtle Hermit? Roshi?”

A loud crash sounded from the second floor of the house, and Roshi came tumbling down the stairs so fast he narrowly missed colliding with the wall.

“What is all this racket?!” he protested, rubbing his bald head.

Turning to the television, he gave an exasperated sigh. “Just my luck, I leave for five minutes and she starts without me.”

Bulma knocked again and Roshi shook a fist at the door.

“I’m coming!”

The door flew open, and when he saw Bulma, Roshi let the scowl slip from his face.

“Oh, it’s you, the annoying little girl I gave the dragon ball. Say, weren’t you hunting for the rest of them?”

She glared and crossed her arms defiantly, “I’m not a little girl, and I’m here to bring you Kakarot.”

Roshi scratched his head, “Ah, yes, I suppose I did promise to train him. Although I expected he would be running around with you until the Destroyer came. Don’t tell me you already found all the dragon balls?”

Bulma’s face clouded over, “Never mind about that. Listen, Kakarot and Vegeta were hurt pretty badly, I need your help to get him out of the boat,” she pointed behind her at the small craft floating at the shoreline.

“Oh ho, so you did go after them, I see it didn’t go very well.”

As he approached the boat and noticed the two Saiyans lying listlessly on the deck, Roshi’s entire demeanor changed. His pace quickened, and his hands tightened on the edge of the railing. “How did this happen?” he asked, his voice cold.

Bulma shivered and spoke reluctantly, “One of the dragon balls was held by an… assassin. They tried to fight him.”

Roshi turned to her, his face white with rage, “They risked their lives! For what? To fulfill the silly wishes of some spoiled girl. Do you have any idea the danger you sent them into?”

With surprising agility, he made it over the side of the boat, scooping a half-conscious Kakarot up in his sinewy arms.

“This is the work of a truly twisted and corrupted man, a man who- ”

“I know who the fuck he was!” Bulma hissed, storming over to Roshi as he hopped down, “And it wasn’t a silly wish! It was for science!”

His gaze was penetrating, although he had to look up to meet her stare despite her diminutive height. “Then may I suggest, in the future, spending more time on your research. Miss scientist,” he brushed brusquely past her, “You can be on your way. There’s nothing you can do and I need to keep an eye on him to recover.”

He didn’t look back or wait for her to respond. The front door seemed to close on its own behind him with a soft click.

* * *

The Juanxu River crept towards the coastline, its brackish waters lapping at the smooth stone banks. Hundreds of years ago, it would have been packed with fishing boats and clogged with piers and docks, as people poured in from the surrounding countryside to reap the rich mixed waters. This discovery had, as many natural discoveries do, led to the expanded exploration of the surrounding area. A mineral deposit had been found, and the land was swiftly torn and trampled to death beneath the boots of progress, dying to the song of steel and machinery.

But nearly as soon as it was seized, the source ran out, leaving behind a ghostly barren wasteland littered with dangerous excavation tunnels. The ghostly figures of machinery stood tall and rusting, an eyesore to any traveler nearby. The river water frothed and stank, and Bulma wrinkled her nose before adjusting a scarf over her face. Strip mining had polluted the upper portion of the river, killing off most of the aquatic wildlife in the river and leaving behind a decay that still lingered. The further East they went the worse it became. Vegeta cursed from his prone position on the floor of the boat.

“God damnit, woman, it smells like something died. Are you trying to kill me?”

“Do you mean something besides your manners?” she teased, arching a delicate eyebrow at him.

Vegeta scowled at her and looked away, “I don’t see why we had to take this anyway, your other transportation capsules were more comfortable.”

“Look out! Bandits!” Bulma cried.

Vegeta snapped upright - or tried to - and succeeded only in lifting his head off the deck. He cursed.

Bulma stared grimly at him, “That’s why. This ridiculous war has every restless man across the country itching to shoot, stab and Kami knows what else the first thing he sees. I don’t like the idea of having to shoot people and you’re in no condition to fight anyone. Here, on garbage river, we’ll be virtually unbothered.”

“Except by the smell,” he scowled unhappily.

Bulma ignored him, and he tried again, “He called you girl.”

She snorted, “Yes, well lecherous old men like him tend to do so. I couldn’t possibly have any intelligent intention in using the dragon balls.”

“Lecherous?”

Another snort, more scoff, “I forget you were lying in the boat like a pile of rags. Before he was concerned about Kakarot he only had eyes for everything below my head.”

Vegeta’s brows knit in thought, “I didn’t hear you mention it.”

“What was I supposed to do? Tell the man I saw defeat a demon ‘eyes up here asshole’ and expect him to listen? Please.”

The words came with obvious effort amidst heavy breathing, “On Vegetasei, it would not matter who he had defeated. You are considered an adult under earth’s social rules?”

She nodded.

“Then you are equals. Tell him to put his eyes somewhere else if he wants to keep them.”

In spite of herself, Bulma laughed. The noise melted Vegeta’s irritation away.

 _I’ll make them stop_. He wanted to say.

Aloud, he said, “I’ll teach you how to make them stop.”

* * *

“Whoa there, take it easy! You’ve been through hell, lay back down and rest awhile.”

Kakarot didn’t recognize the wizened man standing over him at first and he tried to crawl back across the bed in a panic. He succeeded only in smacking the back of his head against the wall and wincing. His vision sparkled and the events of the day before, along with his host’s identity, fell into place.

“Sorry, Mister Turtle…Hermit, I mean Master Roshi. I guess I was so tired yesterday I forgot where I was,” ,e sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

Roshi peered at him intently, “Yes, that’s expected. You’re lucky to have escaped the Crane Master alive,” he shook his head angrily and stared out the window at the empty ocean.

Kakarot frowned in thought, “Do ya mean that Mister Shen guy?”

“None other. He is a truly despicable person, always has been. It seems time has only made him more of a monster.”

“Wait, you know him?”

“We were students together, under the great martial artist Mutaito,” he seemed to be expecting a response, but Kakarot stared at him blankly.

“Ahem, yes, of course, he’s only known here on Earth. When our master was defeated in combat, Shen got it in his head that the only way to escape the possibility of failure was to kill anyone who could ever be a threat.”

“We’d had our disagreements over the years, of course, but Shen became something truly dark after that day. He took what our master taught us and contorted it, poisoned it. Martial arts are a way to express your true inner self - a way to align your body and mind to one; they aren’t necessarily good or evil inherently. Shen’s style,” he gestured to Kakarot’s haggard features, “was influenced by his evil as a person. Every martial artist has their own unique style they’ve carefully developed, and it will always show their true nature.”

Kakarot was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed.

“But fighting is just…fighting, isn’t it? You gotta be strong and defeat lots of people, ‘cause there’s always somebody stronger.”

“Your ki is good, young Kakarot,” Roshi said gently, “You are an honorable young boy, who values loyalty and bravery, and willingly faces self-sacrifice. How you fight, how you train, will help you understand yourself. I will teach you what I know, and show you how to find your own style, and yourself.”

“Find…myself…” Kakarot mumbled, frowning, “I think I kinda remember Grandpa Gohan sayin’ somethin’ like that before.”

“Ah, yes, what else did he teach you? It is good that you’ve had at least some training, better still to come from old Gohan.”

_Slow is smooth, smooth is steady._

Gohan’s voice echoed in his mind. Kakarot bit his lip at the memory, still grappling with the reminder of what had really happened when Gohan disappeared.

“He talked a lot about practice, and…harmony, I think. He said it was too early to teach me anything about fighting, that I had to get to find my fighting spirit.”

Roshi nodded approvingly, “Maybe some of my lessons wore off on him after all. I don’t suppose you had any arguments about that?”

Kakarot shook his head, “Of course not, why? It’s just like how Nappa would…well…”

_“Oh look, another boot climber here to get crushed. Vegeta brought you, you say? Yes, King Vegeta said his son would show up with some child in tow. Don’t think befriending the King’s favored son will gain you any special favors with me. Children don’t get to fight, understand? When you prove to me that you’re a warrior and not some tank-wet brat, then you fight.”_

_Kakarot_ _brushed at his eyes with his fists angrily. He was a brat, and he knew it. Excruciating weeks dragged by, his body a walking bruise from dawn to dusk, and sometimes longer. The night of the moon came and_ _went. And came and went again. Vegeta went, but when he returned_ _he never spoke of what happened on those evening missions._ _Kakarot_ _could never stay awake until Vegeta returned, so great was his exhaustion each day._

He realized he hadn’t finished his sentence.

“Uh, well back on Vegetasei, it was the same. You don’t get to train with the warriors at first.”

“Ahh, the great warrior race of the Saiyans. I’ve heard only rumors and conjecture about your kind, and I suspect they’re more than half-lies, at the very least. But enough nostalgia, what’s important now is that you’re here, and you’re going to learn.”

* * *

Yamcha sat facing Gyumao, immobile as if frozen, mesmerized at the scene around them. The valley had fast returned to life after Baba coaxed the first shoots out of the parched earth. The scent of ripe, bursting blooms hung on the air, as every bush and tree and plant near the waterfall was eager to make up for the lost time. Years of beauty and fruition had lain sleeping beneath the dusty soil and was now sagging heavily with life. The waterfall pounded the rocks below it, smashing relentlessly and scattering a generous, sweet-smelling spray across both seated men.

Meditation, Gyumao had instructed, was crucial if Yamcha ever wanted to improve as a warrior. On hearing the focus he’d been taught by his tribe, Gyumao explained the value of being able to toss away external distractions, to reach the core of one’s being. Yamcha still struggled to let go most days, but since his encounter with Shen, that difficulty had increased tenfold. Where once inner concentration seemed difficult but within reach, it now seemed so impossible he couldn’t even remember what it felt like.

“What is it, young wolf?” Gyumao’s voice hummed with a soft rumble that seemed to shake the earth beneath them with its resonance.

More relaxed than he realized, Yamcha spoke before he could resist the words tumbling out, “I can’t focus, it just keeps eluding me. The lake…I can’t sink below the surface anymore. Every time I try to empty my mind, I start reliving everything with Shen.”

The emotional wall crumbled in his mind, and he struggled to remain seated. Needles crept across his knees and his wrists suddenly ached from the hours of stillness. Every sensation he had been fighting to hold back rushed on him, not unlike the waterfall on the rocks. He felt like those rocks, beneath an unrelenting onslaught.

“The blood…so much blood. It wasn’t clean, and it felt so dishonorable. How could I commit such an atrocity? And Bulma,” he snorted angrily, “telling me that it was justified, telling me what I did wasn’t as bad as what Shen did. And now I feel as if I’ve betrayed myself, killing another human being.”

He tried to reign in his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut. He did not know if Gyumao’s gaze would meet his, but he couldn’t bear to open his eyes and find out; terrified to see the disappointment in it.

“Tell me, what could have happened if you and this student - Tien, was it? - hadn’t gone to stop Shen? What do you think he might have done next, were he still alive?”

Yamcha could not answer, and Gyumao continued.

“Perhaps he would have remained hidden in fear. Or perhaps he would have attacked a village, a traveler, or gotten himself found by the authorities eventually. It is unlikely that an individual so bloodthirsty and corruptible would be able to remain cut off from the world for too long. Now, you and Tien were able to face him down, even if through what you might call, dishonorable tactics. What would happen to those who he might have attacked who lacked your talents? They would face certain death, would they not?”

 _This isn’t making me feel any better._ Yamcha thought glumly.

“Meet my eyes, wolf. Your destiny is to protect those close to you, not to protect the whole world.”

Yamcha’s lids snapped open and his fists clenched on his knees. Gyumao’s face was stern, his dark eyes flashing.

“We all share the same blood, walk beneath the same sun, and sleep under the same moon. The world operates on balance, on harmony. Shen abused and twisted this balance, killing as he pleased for pleasure, for material gain, for status and power. He sought to upend the order of life, just as you seek to uphold it.

You killed a man, yes, but you did not kill for pleasure. You wrestle with this guilt now, because everything you have been taught instructs you to abhor murder, to revere the sanctity of life. You mourn because you believe you took his life, but this is not the case. Shen gave up his own life when he decided to go against the balance of the world. You grieve for an act you did not commit.”

Blood pounded in Yamcha’s temples, setting his ears ringing.

“The world will always find a way to right its imbalances. You could have refused to intervene, and yes, more people could have died as a result, until someone else stepped in. But you didn’t refuse, you chose instead to be the hand that righted things. This is neither an act to mourn, nor an act to celebrate. This is a duty that the universe called for, that you chose to fulfill. This is the way of life.

“There is no path that does not involve sacrifice, and for every take, there must be give. Shen took many lives, but he gave up his own humanity and ultimately his ability to exist as a result. You gave the world peace, but it has taken your naivety and innocence in return. You took someone from this earth, and it gave you a valuable lesson. Do you understand now?”

Acutely self-aware of his every movement, Yamcha swallowed hard and steadied his voice. His skin tingled as he spoke. “I can accept it. I understand. But now I feel even more responsible.”

Gyumao’s head tilted slightly to the side.

“I feel responsible for the future. You asked me, what would happen to other people he tried to attack? Well, there’s bound to be more people like him out there. What if they come for people?”

Gyumao nodded, “So, you do understand. But what do you plan to do? Are you to be the hero of humanity? You have limits, and it is foolish to think to take on the world.”

“Then I’ll take on who I can and leave the rest for someone else who can do better than me,” his face was determined and there was a fire in his dark eyes, “You said once Fa Pan was a refuge, a safe city. I want it to be that again, where people can come to escape monsters like Shen and the destruction people like him bring. If I can do that, I can protect people from ever being in danger in the first place. I can do something to set the harmony of the world before it’s upset so dramatically again.”

For the first time in weeks, the first time since Yamcha had left to join Tien, Gyumao looked on him with fierce pride that tugged a smile on the corners of his mouth.

“I think it is time. You’re ready.”

* * *

“Strike! Counterstrike! Dodge, not spin, you might look like a monkey, but this isn’t a circus! Is that what you call guarded?”

Kakarot panted; his dirty, sweat-streaked skin felt like it was melting under the harsh sunlight. Somehow, it was hotter on Roshi’s island than it had been on the coast. The ocean surrounding them offered a breeze that stung his split lip and scraped skin.

Hanging his head, Kakarot rested his hands on his knees and leaned slightly over. His hair flopped in his face and he relished in the temporary relief from the sun’s rays. Nappa’s trials were a joke compared to this torment. It became immediately apparent that the Saiyan general had been essentially bullying them through their sparring and passing off the labor normally delegated to slaves as training. He was curious to see how Nappa would fare against his new master. Brute strength had made him feel powerful before coming to earth, but in the face of these strange human techniques, he felt hopeless.

Nearly all of the movements Roshi guided him through were bizarre; he felt certain his body was not meant to twist in such a manner. He had no balance either, which the split lip was a testament to. The motions were vaguely reminiscent of what he had seen Tien and Yamcha doing, but somehow vastly different at the same time. It had been several weeks, and still, coordination eluded him.

“Can’t,” he wheezed, “I just, wear, some heavy armor? And get stronger faster?”

From his seat on a lawn chair, Roshi drew his sunglasses down a bit and took a long sip from his drink.

“Of course not. Who could be stupid enough to believe that would work? Take off your ‘armor’ and have to learn to balance all over again? Ha!” he snapped his fingers impatiently, “Go on, then. Listen to the earth again.”

His muscles a symphony of fire and reluctance, Kakarot drew himself up. I can do this. I’ve faced so much and I’m still here. He wondered how Vegeta was faring, back in the city with Bulma. If I don’t keep up here with Master Roshi, Vegeta’s sure to beat me.

 _I can’t let that_ _happen;_ _he already sees me as just a kid._

The determination on his face deepened, and he took a slow, controlled breath. He felt the sun, the stinging wind, listened to the waves, and dug his bare feet into the sandy shore. Everything was so alive, so many forces and energies converging on him. The more he focused, the stronger they became, until he began to despair again of ever reaching a harmony.

_Slow is smooth, smooth is steady._

The wind shifted slightly, tickling his back. He moved forward with it, gracefully, matching his pace with the waves lapping on the beach. It was as if there had been a wall in front of him before, a wall that had suddenly dissipated. The wind dropped again, and he spun smoothly through his movements, slow and measured practice strikes. His steps traced the dips and rises of the sand, giving him perfect footing as he circled. Eyes closed, Kakarot danced through forms as if in a trance, pausing less and less between movements until his body was a smooth blur of limbs.

Roshi watched, his face impassive, not at all surprised at what seemed to be a sudden breakthrough. For days, he’d been observing Kakarot’s clumsy imitation of the Turtle forms. What the young boy didn’t see, that Roshi’s expert eyes did, was how close he was to finding his inner balance. It was obvious that there was more to his story about how he wound up on earth with another Saiyan barely older than him, and that the emotional damage was keeping him from his true potential. He decided against pushing the issue, though. Something told him Kakarot would broach that problem on his own, soon enough. The boy just needed to find his center.

More weeks passed, and Kakarot found his balance, his rhythm, faster and more easily with each passing day. While his jovial spirit remained, an air of dedication tempered it now - a change that was unsurprising given his brush with Shen. He no longer tripped as often and had managed most of the complex stretches and training poses. Nighttime was still plagued with nightmares, however, and Roshi had decided it was time to address the issue. On a particularly cloudy day, instead of taking his usually shady spot in the lounger beneath the island’s single tree, Roshi stood in front of Kakarot, his arms serenely held behind him.

“So far,” he began, removing his sunglasses, “you’ve honed your body and your mind. You’ve managed to move with the energy of the earth rather than against it. But let’s see how your _ki_ does. Starting today, in addition to your regular training, you will spar with me. It’s time we bring out that latent talent in you, put it to good use,” he took a fighting stance and clenched a fist, the knuckles of his other hand cracking as he flexed, “Just like on your own but direct all your strikes at me now.”

Kakarot set his jaw and ignored the cold feeling growing in his stomach. For a moment, he remembered in all-too vivid of detail Shen’s hands and the agony they inflicted. This is different. He tried to focus his mind on the present, push the memory back and away. This is training, not a real fight.

As if reading his mind, Roshi growled and narrowed his eyes.

“And don’t even think about holding back.”

* * *

At a particularly skillful dodge, Roshi nearly let a smile slip. This new student of his was an unmistakable pupil of Gohan’s. The elastic movements, the split-second changes in direction, it was Gohan’s hallmark. He reached neatly behind the spinning Kakarot and grasped his wrist, intending to throw him. In a flash, memories of his first tournament with Gohan blurred across his vision, staggering him. Roshi tried to push them away and focus on the fight and realized in horror that he couldn’t see what was happening in front of him – what was happening with Kakarot. The boy had stopped moving; Roshi could only tell because the small wrist remained motionless firmly in his grip.

More memories flooded, wresting deep-buried nostalgia from his mind where it had lain for decades. A veritable wellspring of emotion surged through him as hazy bits and pieces flitted through his imagination; grueling training under Mutaito, rescuing a local woman from Shen’s advances, their attack on the Daimao cult followers.

Roshi jerked his hand from Kakarot violently and leaped back nearly a meter. His voice was severe, commanding. “Kakarot, what was that? What did you just do?”

* * *

His head spun, Gohan’s face rapidly aging in his mind as the sand shifted under his feet. Kakarot was certain the ground was going to swallow him whole; he flailed and felt his knees shake as he saw a young Shen, arguing angrily with Gohan and Roshi. Roshi’s voice echoed in his mind until his ears rang, and he fell clumsily, clutching his head in his hands.

“Kakarot…Kakarot!”

The ringing was almost deafening, accompanied by an unnatural roaring.

“KAKAROT!” Roshi roared, firing a blast of ki towards him.

It dissipated mere millimeters from his chest, but the force of the wind behind it knocked him off his feet and sent him sprawling to the ground, sand spraying around him with the impact. As if on a switch, the overwhelming deluge of memories, images, sounds, and sensations snapped off. Kakarot coughed at the silty cloud around him as he tried to sit back up.

Roshi’s voice was firm, brooking no arguments.

“Kakarot, what was that? What did you do?”

Spitting the grit from his tongue, Kakarot twisted his face and grimaced.

“I…I don’t really know. It only happened before with Vegeta. Well, and once with Grandpa. He said it was something called empathy, but Vegeta keeps sayin’ its more complicated than that,” he brushed his gi off and stood his face reddening, “I really don’t know what it is. I hope…I hope you’ll still train me after this. I shoulda told ya. Grandpa said it’s wrong to keep secrets.”

“An empath…and a Saiyan one,” roshi’s bushy eyebrows knit as he muttered and peered at Kakarot, then relaxed slightly as he headed toward the young Saiyan, “That prince of yours, Vegeta, he might be an asshole, but he’s right about one thing at least. It is far more complicated than just being empathetic.”

Kakarot stood, coughing again, but Roshi held up his hand.

“Let’s avoid any more contact for now until we figure out what this ability you have is.”

“Don’t ya need me to train?” Kakarot squinted up at the sun, shielding his eyes with a dirty hand, “It’s not even lunchtime yet.” His stomach rumbled as if to protest the time of day.

Roshi shook his head as he turned back towards the house, “No, don’t worry about this. Training your mind is just as important as training your body, you know. And now that you have this…well, now it’s more important for you to train the mind than the body. For now, at least. Come inside, we have much to discuss.”

* * *

Fa Pan’s grand hall had lain empty for over a decade now. Thick cobwebs draped the ceiling and walls like eerie curtains, billowing in the air as Yamcha and Gyumao strode through the doors. The wood creaked and groaned in its hinges, announcing their arrival to the host of bugs and mice who had taken up residence in the building, trying to escape the wasteland Fa Pan had become.

A great, long table spanned the entire hall, maps and etching adorned the otherwise barren walls. At the end of the hall, a large dais sat, the head of its throne sporting an enormous pair of black oxen horns. Gyumao’s sigil banner hung behind it, the gold thread still shining beneath the layer of grime that plagued the room. A radiant sun was embroidered into it, rising above a white phoenix and heron set on a crimson red background. Despite its derelict condition, the hall still made Yamcha feel like he should be standing up a little straighter.

He stood awkwardly near the entrance as Gyumao waved at him to wait. The hulking man moved nimbly around the room with impressive agility, rifling through the desks and drawers lining the walls of the hall and mumbling to himself.

“Here…somewhere…aha!” he pulled a large book from beneath a stack and blew on it, sneezing at the puff of dust that flew off the cover.

Excitedly, he hurried over to Yamcha, already flipping through the pages. The leather binding bulged at the spine as if every page had been spread wide multiple times.

“This was the logbook of the previous grand secretary, who worked here for me before Fa Pan was abandoned. A very fastidious man, really, his death was a horrible loss for us,” Gyumao snapped it shut again, wrinkling his nose and frowning as more dust escaped the pages, “You said you wanted to protect people, to save them before they were even in danger. If you’re serious, I want your help in rebuilding Fa Pan.”

Yamcha choked, whether on the dust or his own surprise he wasn’t sure, “Me? But I’m just a warrior, and barely one at that! I don’t know the first thing about…secretary things.”

The book wagged impatiently in his face.

“Nonsense, you already know the most important thing, and that’s that the citizens are the priority,” Gyumao peered at him intently, “You wanted to do something with yourself, young wolf, make a new life. This is is.”

Gingerly, Yamcha took the proffered logbook. With a nod of approval and an affirmative grunt, Gyumao’s face split into a wide grin and he clapped Yamcha on the back.

“You’ll learn everything you need to know in this room, just as soon as we get it cleaned out and straightened up,” he sneezed again and cursed, “We’ll find ourselves a new secretary, and you can work with him to make sure Fa Pan becomes a haven again. There are many ways to protect, fighting is only one among them. It’s time you learned a new way of taking on the challenges of the world. Come now, let’s head back to the house. I’m sure you’re wanting to tell Sumai about all this.”

* * *

They walked together, the hulking ox and the sleek gray wolf. The sun shone high over them and they cast no shadow as they ambled along. Thousands of kilometers away, so far away it perhaps could be called another world, a pair of dark, beady eyes watched them from a shadowy nook. The air shone and spun around the image of the two figures, warping periodically between human and animal forms.

Wrinkled, bony hands folded themselves, stretching the unnaturally colored skin over the knuckles as they moved. The shimmering figures shifted back to animals again, and the hands stretched and tugged, the skin smoothing and the bones righting themselves to a youthful shape.

“It has begun.” A harsh, lilting whisper came from the face obscured above the hands.

_“When the wolf follows the ox, a vile fruit will take root. Heed the eyes that do not see, heed the speech that does not move the mouth, heed the dream that is not a dream. The twin comet begets sacrificing and being sacrificed.”_

The gossamer image winked out, and the room was plunged into darkness.


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta tries to adapt to life at Capsule Corp, but he can't forget his past.

Harsh sun rays glittered across the horizon as Bulma deftly steered the boat into a port. Vegeta gaped, wincing as he struggled to sit straighter for a better view. Multiple tiers of docks towered above the waterside entrance to Metro West, some of them nearly the height of the tallest ship. More of the watercraft than not were completely foreign to him, bizarre shapes he’d never seen before. In contrast with pirate junk ships and the Tuffles’ simplistic pods, these bodies were more elegant and stoic as they rocked at their piers.

The air even seemed warmer here, and as they pulled toward a glistening black tower of scaffolding even the noise became more intense. Catching a glimpse of Vegeta’s wild gaze, Bulma slowed the boat more than usual as she drifted towards the Capsule Corp dock. Even the largest trading outpost Vegeta had ever been to couldn’t compare to the roiling throng of activity here. His tail tingled and his eyes flitted furiously, threatening a return of his intermittent nausea as he tried to take in every human walking around.

_Too busy. Too many strangers._

He backed further against the seat, straining to see the breadth of the widening harbor. Larger than any of the rest in the port, the Capsule Corp dock was more of a garage than a simple pier. Heart racing, Vegeta stared mesmerized as Bulma shut off the engines and drifted into the open bay. Water dripped from the opening gate overhead, smacking him on the back of the neck. Without warning, huge mechanical arms rose from the water beneath them, encircling the boat and lifting them from the water. The solid wall next to them shuddered and groaned, folding in on itself to open into what looked like a launch bay.

Oblivious to the motion, Bulma easily climbed out of the captain’s seat and began collecting their things from the hold. She swayed and dipped with the movements of the boat as it settled down, paying the now-retreating arms no mind as the folding doors closed behind them. Vegeta once again mentally cursed his current state, regretting the need to wait for Bulma to help him out.

A slight digital drone sounded from an invisible speaker and was immediately followed by a man’s excited voice.

“Bulma dear, you’re back!” a pause, and then a more severe tone, “Your mother has been so worried, you know she doesn’t like when you forget to turn on the GPS and – oh my, I didn’t realize you brought a guest, who is this? He looks wounded, did something happen?”

Bulma groaned in frustration, “Ach, Dad! One thing at a time, and it’s nice to see you too,” she shot back sarcastically, “Mother worries too much. I’ll be there soon and explain then.”

“Hmph! I suppose you’re right. You always have been precocious.”

Bulma tossed her backpack over her shoulder and held out a hand to Vegeta while addressing the invisible speaker, “Yeah, sure thing. You know it wouldn’t hurt _you_ to get outside and take an adventure now and then.”

A scoff preceded another soft drone and the background noise ended. Bulma shook her head as she slung Vegeta’s arm over her shoulder and kicked the door panel open.

“Sorry about that,” she began as they hobbled awkwardly down the steps.

Her voice was too apologetic and Vegeta felt himself tense against her.

“I don’t need you to pity me,” he managed angrily, “I’m used to strangers being suspicious of me.”

She snorted at the bottom of the stairs, “No, you just need me to be able to walk. Relax, you can quit pretending to be all high and mighty around me. My Dad just doesn’t think before he speaks. Here, lean against me for a second.”

Shifting her weight, she slipped an arm around his waist and leaned her hip against his side. The door in front of them was impossibly clean, like the rest of the room, and Vegeta grew more conscious of his clearly worn clothes. He tried to tell himself Bulma had been just kidding when she mocked him over them, but it grated on him now. Despite also sleeping on the boat for the last several days, she seemed still more put together than him.

Being forced to be so close to her made him feel jumpy and antsy and he couldn’t figure out why. Bulma placed her hand inside the outline of a square on the wall, activating what he recognized as a palm scanner.

 _At least I can recognize something here._ He thought.

Blue light glowed underneath her fingers from the square, and a chime sounded as the door in front of them slid up into its casing. She grinned at him as she shifted again and stepped forward.

“Pretty cool, huh? Wait till you see the house pod.”

Lights clicked on in the soft blue and white room they entered, which housed only the opening to a pitch-black tunnel and a round vehicle on a sleek track. He frowned.

“A house pod? Like the capsule things?”

The door dinged and opened with a robotic greeting, “Hello again, Miss Briefs. Please enter the pod. You will arrive at your destination within the hour.”

“Even better,” she ducked and helped him inside the narrow space, which consisted of no more than two upholstered benches facing one another, “We’ll be at the compound in minutes with this.”

Vegeta coughed as he adjusted in his seat to peer down the tunnel, “You have a compound, your own…ground ships to take you there, and you keep brushing off the fact that I’m a prince. You’re not just any Earthling, are you?”

The pod began moving then, almost imperceptibly at first and Vegeta noticed he’d been tensed waiting for the jerk of motion starting that never came.

“And all your technology is more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen,” he crossed his arms. “Kakarot and I told you about us, I think it’s time maybe you return the courtesy. It’s clear you’re someone important.”

Bulma was quiet for a minute, the only noise in the pod the whooshing of the light rings as they flew through the tunnel. Vegeta started to wonder if she was going to answer at all when she finally spoke.

“I don’t know how it is on your planet, but here, people behave differently if you’re famous. You’re not a person anymore – “

“And everyone’s eyes are on you,” he finished bitterly. “I’m familiar with the burden of station. So why exactly are you so important.”

She gave him an annoyed look, “Yet you’re not familiar with the custom of letting people finish their sentences,” sighing, she gestured to the pod around them, “My Dad makes all the best and newest technology. Medicine, transportation, automation – pretty much everything but weaponry.”

Vegeta raised his eyebrows slightly at this but said nothing as she continued.

“I’ve been helping him since I could walk, learning everything he had to teach me. But no one sees me as anything more than ‘Doctor Briefs’ daughter’ so pretty much everything I made on my own got ignored. To my parents, I’m another family genius. To the rest of the world…a spoiled heiress to the largest fortune in the world.”

“The largest? Doesn’t Earth have a planetary ruler?”

She grinned wryly, “I’m sure President Szuik wishes he had my family’s wealth, but government contracts are the entire reason he does so well. Earth would be at least a century behind its current scientific development if it wasn’t for my father.”

“For your father and you,” he corrected.

“Sure, but try convincing anyone else of that,” she rolled her eyes, “But I’m going to change their minds. I’m going to the university here and once I have that ridiculous paper degree, they’ll have to take me seriously.”

Her eyes darted for an instant to the metal box she’d placed the iron brick inside before quickly looking away.

“Anyway, that’s me,” she spread her hands dramatically, “The eccentric trillionaire’s daughter who traipses around the continent when she’s not buried in a workshop up to her elbows in grease. It’ll be a while before we get back, but I need to check on some things. Why don’t you try to take a nap and I’ll wake you when we get there?”

Vegeta gave a gruff assenting noise and leaned back, sliding his eyes nearly shut and crossing his arms. Bulma pulled a slim slate tablet from her bag, the screen lighting up under her touch. He watched her through slit lids as she quickly became entranced with the screen in her lap. Slowly, he felt himself relax to the gentle rocking of the pod, mesmerized by her movements until his eyes finally drifted closed.

The change in the pod’s speed as it slowed snapped Vegeta awake. He sat upright, peering through the window that looked out into a room nearly identical to the bay they’d left.

“Welcome home, Miss Briefs,” the same automated voice chimed as the door slid open with a slight squeak.

The air here was the same as the pod and previous bay; there was no scent hanging in it, nothing by which to judge his surroundings. It was…sterile. It made him uncomfortable, but then again so did the fact that _because_ the air was devoid of smells all he could smell was Bulma. He sidled away from her on unsteady legs, waving off her attempt to help him stand.

“I’m fine, really.”

She rolled her eyes and placed her hand on another wall square, activating the door, “You said that yesterday, too, and then almost fell out of the boat because you thought you could catch a fish.”

“And I’d have caught it too, if it wasn’t for your loud mouth,” he snapped back.

Bulma frowned, but then gave him a cheeky smile, “I’ll remember that the next time you want to needle me with more questions about Earth.”

Vegeta was certain she was joking – fairly certain, anyway. He followed her through the door, which led only to a tiny room barely the size of the pod they’d arrived in. Mechanical smells filled the air and he felt his sensitive nose twitch at the sudden onslaught of input. Another outline on the wall emitted a faint glow from the row of numbers on it. He was positive the floor shifted as they stepped in, and he gave her a suspicious look.

Bulma gestured to a rail mounted against the wall, “Judging by that crazy look in your eyes I’m guessing you’ve never been in an elevator before. You might want to hold on.”

On anyone else, the expression she wore would have made Vegeta’s skin tingle with suspicion. On Bulma, he knew it meant she was about to have a laugh at his expense.

“Wait, what are –”

The number 4 flashed on the bright panel mounted on the wall of the chamber and before he could finish protesting the floor seemed to come at him from below. He clutched at the bar and swore loudly as Bulma laughed before moving to help support his other side. The sensation had only lasted a second, leaving him feeling off-balance.

 _Some kind of lift transport._ He realized.

The movement stopped while he was still trying to decide exactly how to express his annoyance and the doors slid open again. The room in front of them immediately pushed all other thoughts aside and Vegeta felt compelled to stand up straight, or as much as he could. Rivaling the Great Throne Room and easily as large, the room was so brightly white that the walls seemed almost seamless with the floor.

It was too bright, he realized, and he squinted hard as he scanned the room. Even the floor shone as if it had been polished and it seemed every light was lit.

“What is this place?” he asked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the brilliant interior.

Bulma spread her arms, “Home sweet home. Welcome to Capsule Corp, the home of hope and innovation.”

_Right. A compound. I should have expected it to be so large. This home, it reminds me of the palace._

Her attention was drawn by a man entering the room. Vegeta saw the wide smile painting her face and turned to look in the same direction.

“Dad!” she happily called and bounded up to the man.

Vegeta could see that he wasn’t just a man as he took in his appearance. Polished metal limbs emitted faint glowing light where they connected and attached to human flesh. An impressively stern face softened as the man took Bulma in his arms, but his piercing gaze was trained on Vegeta.

Thick, bushy mustaches stood out on his face, the same stark white as his hair. Vegeta wondered about his age but quickly suppressed the thought. Both of his legs appeared to be prosthetic, as well as his left arm, and a thin silvery headband with blinking lights hung at his temples. A somber outfit of navy and gray tones fit his form and seemed to move with him. It reminded him of Saiyan battle suits, something he’d missed sorely since coming to Earth.

“Dad, this is Vegeta, you saw him in the bay. He helped me find those Dragon Balls I was looking for and he’s going to be staying a while,” she pulled away from him and looked expectantly at Vegeta, “Vegeta, this is my father, Doctor Briefs.”

_Damn. I wish she’d shown me to wherever the hell I’m supposed to be staying first so I could have at least gotten cleaned up._

A lifetime of ceremony and ritual clawed at the back of his brain. Bracing himself for his swaying legs, Vegeta sank to one knee and placed his fist to the floor. He dipped his head for a moment before rising carefully and addressing the man, lifting his fist to his same shoulder in the traditional Saiyan salute.

“I accept your hospitality. May wind be all that separates us.” He tried to make his voice steady, as it had been during his last formal audience with his father.

To Vegeta’s great surprise, and Bulma’s as well, Dr. Briefs repeated the motion, lifting his metal fist to his shoulder.

“I am honored to have you as a guest. May words be all there is between us.”

The serious expression slipped from his face and was replaced with a wide grin, almost identical to the one Bulma often wore. The family resemblance was striking.

“A Saiyan! I thought I spotted the tail from the pod, and that hair. But of course, I had to be mistaken, hadn’t I?”

He was approaching Vegeta, mechanical fingers morphing and flattening on his left hand to form a slate, which he immediately began swiping on with his right.

“No one had seen a Saiyan in nearly thirty years, not even on the edges of the Galactic Patrol.”

Dr. Briefs paused, his excited rambling for a moment and peered intently at Vegeta. The piercing gaze was back again, and Vegeta tried to hold himself straighter. As if looking through Vegeta, Dr. Briefs circled around him, periodically switching between scrolling and scribbling.

“Uhh, Dad?” Bulma interrupted, “You know about the Saiyans? And why did you say that bit about the wind and words.”

More muttering and scribbling. One of his eyes was cybernetic, Vegeta realized. He’d never seen a humanoid with so many modifications to their organic bodies. And so clean. The few Saiyans who required prosthetics suffered from constant rejection difficulties that often hampered them so severely that they died soon after on subsequent missions.

Without them, however, a Saiyan could not fulfill their duties. Failure to contribute was rewarded with exile, a fate that no Saiyan would accept. As a result, implants were an almost guaranteed death sentence on Vegetasei, yet here this man was, actively peering at him with a glowing teal eye that spun and focused.

Bulma snapped next to Dr. Briefs’ face, and the eye paused. Dr. Briefs shook himself and blinked, as if remembering Bulma were there.

“Oh yes, of course, the Saiyans. Yes, it’s been a good many year, and I thought – well see I assumed – they were all dead.”

The words ripped through Vegeta and he felt a wave of nausea.

_They escaped one planet’s destruction only to be obliterated by a traitor._

The slate folded in on itself, morphing back into fingers which Dr. Briefs raked through his hair; it was the same bright lavender as Bulma’s.

“Saiyan custom requires that disputes be solved physically, without words. Verbal arguments are not permitted in public, and any interaction between guests and their hosts is considered public. ‘Nothing but words’ expresses hope that no conflict will arise that requires more than words.”

Bulma gaped at him before turning to Vegeta.

“You really weren’t lying about being a prince then, were you?”

Ignoring her, Dr. Briefs continued, “Thirty years or so ago, I was on a deep space Galatic Patrol base. Some patrolmen came back with a dying man, a Saiyan. He’d been fatally wounded fighting some smugglers on a hunk of an asteroid on the Dextera belt, and the patrolmen found him when they executed the smugglers. He stayed on the base nearly a week before he recovered, and we became friendly. He shared stories of his home, but one day he vanished from the base,” Dr. Briefs shook his head.

“We never did find out what happened to him. He spoke of his planet, of how the Saiyan people had come here long ago to find peace after a civil war. But when we sent patrolmen out to the coordinates, the planet was a barren, destroyed husk.”

Sweat dripped down the back of Vegeta’s neck as he listened to Dr. Briefs speak.

_A Saiyan willingly fraternizing with humans? Thirty years ago? Before_ _Frieza_ _, then, when my father was still newly the king. What Saiyan would have lost to mere smugglers?_

Vegeta’s mind swam and he tried to steady himself, but the movement was all too apparent to his hosts. His knees buckled beneath him and he felt the cool metal of Dr. Briefs’ arm brush against him before lifting him easily and supporting his weight.

“Forgive me, I got carried away reminiscing. Please, let us see you to a room where you can recover. We will speak later.”

Vegeta nodded numbly, the short spurt of energy he’d had moments ago now sapped from him. Leaning heavily on the older man, he followed Bulma through the compound. The silence hung heavy in the air, but he was too tired and stunned by the story of the strange Saiyan to manifest conversation. The entire place seemed to be made of the same slick white material, the walls meeting the floor and ceiling with soft curves instead of hard angles.

Vegeta was grateful when they finally arrived in a bedroom. He could sense the concern in Bulma’s voice, asking if he needed anything, promising to come to check on him, and he mumbled an apology as he dropped into bed. The softness immediately broke his resolve and sleep swiftly took him.

* * *

Bulma’s neck ached, her back and wrists felt like they were on fire. For three days, she had worked tirelessly in her lab, subjecting the iron from the Dragon Balls to every and any test she could think of. It flaked, smudged, melted, and broke just like any other naturally occurring element. No matter how she examined it, she couldn’t determine anything about its origin. Even attempting to date it was useless, as far as her equipment was concerned the iron was less than a month old, which she knew was impossible.

_If only I’d known that making a wish would scatter the Dragon Balls. I could have prepared, forced them to stay, or maybe even devised a way to track them. Now, even the radar doesn’t work._

When she wasn’t hunched over the table in her lab, she was preparing for university. Every time she felt her father’s eyes on her, though, she struggled to keep her head up. They had argued many times about her choice to attend, after spending her entire life up to this point being privately tutored. Even that had phased out around the time was she 14, as no one wanted to try to teach a girl who often outpaced their lessons within weeks.

_“There’s no point in it” he had chastised gently. “You are smarter and more capable than any one of them. Do you really plan to spend most of a decade pretending to learn at everyone else’s pace?”_

_“If that’s what it takes to be respected, then yes.” She had replied flatly. “No matter what I create, they all whisper about how they think it’s just your work and I’m passing it off. After the last convention when I submitted my enzyme hydrolyzer, they even changed the entry rules to bar anyone without a degree.”_

_Her father snorted in derision._

_“You don’t need their approval, my dear. You know Capsule Corp will make anything you create.” He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, dragging a tendril of his pipe smoke with it. “I could not have asked for a better daughter, but you must let this fixation with the public perception go.”_

The words had stung. He meant them as a comfort, but she knew he would never understand. He was the leading researcher and scientist of his generation, and fifty years ago there was no one like him. He had set the stage for innovation, and no one would question him. She was a newcomer on the scene, living in his shadow, and she burned to be acknowledged for her skills.

_This is why I have to figure out how the Dragon Balls ‘create.’ I need this._

* * *

Vegeta suppressed a wry smile as Bulma took a turn too fast. She shook her fist at another driver who nearly hit them, swearing loudly. His arms crossed over his chest as usual, he leaned back lazily in his seat. She was every bit as bad a pilot as Nappa, but it was amusing to watch such a tiny weak person yell as if she were twice her size. Today she was uncharacteristically silent, offering up little conversation and grumbling whenever other vehicles got too close for her liking.

Vegeta gave a noncommittal response, his attention was once again drawn to the sprawling city flying by through the windows. Metro West was bigger than any city he’d ever seen. His first day he’d thought the harbor impressive, but his first time leaving Capsule Corp flattened that assumption. Broad avenues stretched out one after another as far as he could see, straining even his eyes. Tall buildings towered over each other with the occasional small airship or hovercraft dipping between.

Plenty of forests would have easily dwarfed the city, especially in the hotter regions of the system’s edge. Vegeta was used to feeling small in comparison to plant life, even in comparison to the lifeforms that often towered over him. But those were things for which he had an answer. Seemingly endless floors of windows were a different matter altogether.

Despite his reluctance, Vegeta had finally caved to Bulma’s demands that he get out of the house and spend a day out with her. Over the past week, it had been difficult to do little more than eat and sleep. The downtime was making him restless and it had become impossible for him to hide. Never had any injury put him out for more than a single day, but he was going on near half a moon still suffering from the effects of his encounter with Shen.

He wondered how Kakarot was faring, with the old Turtle Hermit looking after him. The thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth and his tail twitched reflexively. Their parting of ways still rubbed him the wrong way, and he found himself wishing continually that there had been a way to go with Kakarot. Training or not, he felt responsible for the younger Saiyan, and couldn’t help but feel a measure of guilt over his arrogance getting them attacked in the first place. Earth was supposed to be safe, a refuge from losing Vegetasei to Freiza’s armies. The planet seemed weak and easily dominated, and Vegeta had planned to take it over for the Saiyans who survived to come to.

But Earth was not easy pickings, he had soon realized. So here he was, the guest of this strange girl, sliding around in the seat like a trophy kill on his way to eat what she promised would be the best food of his life. His stomach growled. If there was one best thing about Earth, it had to be the food. Bulma stopped short just outside a bright green building with silver doors and windows.

Vegeta watched the valet take the car with unease, despite Bulma reassuring him it was “normal” and that everyone did it for convenience’s sake. Delicious meat smells wafted through the air and intensified as the doors swung open automatically. He wondered if he would ever get used to how many smells the city had.

The hover boots of the serving staff still threw Vegeta off, but by the time their food came, he was ravenous enough not to care. Burgers, steak, ribs – the selection rivaled feast days back home, and while it pained him to admit it, it was far superior to anything from Vegetasei. Tossing another rib bone onto the plate he gingerly wiped with fingers with a napkin, annoyed when the paper tore. Fully intending to make a jab to Bulma about how the food was better than the tableware, he looked up and noticed she had barely touched the single burger she ordered.

* * *

Bulma stared out the window absentmindedly, twirling the same fry in its mustard and continually forgetting to eat it. She was only vaguely aware of the serving staff and Vegeta’s multiple orders, her mind looping over Tien’s parting words. He hadn’t seen them off, disappearing shortly after returning to the house.

_“I hope it was worth it.”_

Her throat tightened. Was it worth it? Several times on their trip to Metro West, and since their return, she had considered attempting to contact Sumai and apologize to Yamcha. She stared at the phone screen, her finger hovering over the connect button before she eventually closed it in frustration. Tien had returned covered in blood and looking like he wanted to burn his clothes. She was not entirely certain that he wouldn’t do exactly that.

Coping with failure was not her forte, particularly when it came to failing others. It was very clear she had failed, not only in her research over her wish, but her newfound friends as well. The raspy breathing of Kakarot and Vegeta sent shivers down her spine and she frowned, cramming the now soggy fry into her mouth. She made a face and gulped her water.

 _What if I never figure it out? I risked everything…_ they _risked everything. I must learn the secrets of the Dragon Balls. And I must apologize to Yamcha. Even if he doesn’t want to hear me out._

A part of her felt guilty for the insistence, but stubbornness was her worst shortcoming. That and impatience. Vegeta’s voice dragged her out of her self-pity mire, and she realized he’d repeated her name twice already.

* * *

Late summer brought monsoons to the west, unleashing the sky on the city below. The waves in the harbor rose to the highest levels of the pier before lashing against the sea break walls. Metro West sloped harshly away from its harbor; its districts divided by high metal walls that rose during storm season. In a spiral, the onslaught of rain rushed down the streets, slipping into drainage grates along the sides of every dividing wall. The wind roared against the rush of water being collected, as pumps forced it deeper inland to be treated.

Capsule Corp sat on a high hill, overlooking the raging storm below. Even in its labyrinth of a basement, the wind and rain could be heard. Bulma was hunched stiffly over a table, filling a crate of test tubes with a magnifying glass and tweezers. Grain by grain she placed individual slivers of the iron in from a microscopic dish in front of her. As she closed the case, the light overhead flickered for an instant.

Pensively, she closed the case on the lid and set the separator to running. For a moment, she stared blankly off to the wall before crumpling on her stool with her head in her hands. She had not slept for two days, refusing in her desperation to give up on trying to identify anything unusual about the iron that could explain the dragon ball phenomenon. University was slated to begin in four days, and she had wanted to make a discovery before then.

A knock at the door roused her and she sniffed before answering.

“Come on, it’s almost ready.”

Dr. Briefs strode into the room, his eyes taking in her disheveled face.

“Are you alright, dear? You really should sleep you know,” he didn’t wait for her to answer as he peered into the separator that was whirring, “Now what’s this about the particle identifier?”

It rolled to a stop as if on cue and beeped as Bulma stood up to stand at the worktable.

“Like I told you before, it just materialized out of nowhere. No matter what test I run on it, nothing abnormal comes back. The elements are always the same as standard iron. I want you to look and tell me what you see…maybe I’m just not looking hard enough.”

She bit her lip and stuffed her hands into her pockets. How she hated entertaining the idea that she might have made a mistake. Paying no mind to her agitated posture, Dr. Briefs slid the crate into a scanner, scrolling through the data as it processed. Pulling away after a few minutes, he shook his head.

“There’s really nothing different about this. Other than being incredibly shiny, new, and pure. But that’s nothing of significance. Any lab-created iron would look the same,” he studied her for a moment, “I’m sorry dear. You weren’t missing anything, it’s just ordinary.”

Her eyes burned and she plopped back onto her stool, defeated. Dr. Briefs leaned back against the table, crossing his ankles and arms.

“Walk me through why this is so important. You’ve barely prepared for university and it’s days away.”

“I just…I wanted to figure it out before then. One last thing to prove to myself before I have to be consumed by that idiotic degree,” her voice quivered and she blinked fiercely as her cheeks reddened, “I hate that it’s the only way for them to take me seriously. Even if I had been able to discover something, they wouldn’t believe me.”

Dr. Briefs was quiet for a moment before holding up his hand. The metal gleamed in the harsh lab light, illuminating initials engraved into the space between the thumb and forefinger.

_“BB”_

“You were six, Bulma, and yet you made a better joint for this hand than I could have. You helped me get the capsules as small as they are now. How many times do I come to you to check wiring and energy consumption?”

She nodded glumly and he sighed.

“You are innovative and intelligent, respected throughout all of Capsule Corp. Do you really care what tabloids say? What strangers who don’t know you think of you? They gossip out of ignorance because they don’t know you or your talents.”

There was a long silence before he stood and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as he walked toward the door.

“Know that your mother and I will always support you no matter what you choose. But remember that your choices should always reflect what you want, and not what others want.”

* * *

Vegeta’s shirt lay piled around his waist, only prevented from slipping further by the belt over it. Sweat darkened patches on his pants, and his feet and toes tingled with adrenaline, the tape on them now even snugger inside his shoes. His usually unruly hair sagged in the muggy heat, sticking to his neck and falling in his face. Not a breath of air stirred amongst the trees and foliage.

A wild animal snarled and leaped from the bushes to his right revealing its anthropomorphic form. Humanlike appendages ended in sharp claws, and the cheekbones framed a wide, flat nose and slitted eyes. Tawny fur was splotched with deep auburn markings, covering most of its body. The catlike figure crouched, inhaling and locking its eyes on its prey.

A vein in Vegeta’s forehead twitched, and he let his breath out in a slow hiss. It bared its fangs in response and lunged for him, swiping wildly at his chest. Vegeta dodged gracefully, ducking beneath its outstretched arm and dancing to the side to deliver a kick to the ribs. His attacker yowled, staggering to the side, but he continued to dodge away. The preemptive movement was almost enough, but the frenzied claws still managed to slash him across the back with a sharp point.

Vegeta grunted at the impact, breathing heavily as he tried to push himself to move faster in an attempt to exhaust his attacker. They danced through the foliage, missing one another as they attacked wildly. Feigning a dodge, he sprung backward, kicking the feline from under the jaw as he flipped. The momentary stun was all the opening Vegeta needed, and he twisted from the hip as a purple light filled his cupped palms, hurling the attack with a roar of his own.

The galick gun smashed his opponent in the chest, who immediately disappeared. Vegeta swore, wiping his forehead with a ragged breath as the forest around him shimmered and the oppressive heat lifted. The white room he was in was perfectly round and appeared to go on infinitely in a white blank, although Vegeta knew it was less than fifty meters in each direction. A simudeck, Bulma had called it.

When she first brought him to Capsule Corp, he had been still too weak to stand, let alone train. But the moment that exhaustion had even begun to lift, he’d hounded her to quit monitoring him and let him train. It wasn’t fair, he had reasoned, that Kakarot was getting to train with the old Turtle Hermit while he was stuck here with her smothering him.

Of course, she took offense to the insult but begrudgingly relented after Dr. Briefs suggested the simudeck. In return for specialized training equipment, he agreed to the two of them observing his training regimens and collecting data. After all, Dr. Briefs pointed out, this was a unique chance for him to study a Saiyan. Vegeta was quite certain no other Saiyan would subject themselves to such scrutiny, but he was willing to do anything to gain power.

Outfitted with an endless array of creatures and environments both real and imaginary, the deck could project any condition he wanted to fight under. While the simulation was active, anything that happened inside it was real. His back burned as if to affirm that fact.

He had to fight Bulma over it, insisting she add more opponents, more difficult opponents, harsher environments. She still fussed over him every time he came out, though, too much raw concern in her eyes and too many questions about where he was hurt and how did he feel.

Vegeta strode toward the door, shivering from the cool air of the compound as he adjusted to the temperature change. Grabbing a towel off the bench outside the door, he sat down and mopped his neck and face.

As usual, Bulma came in moments later, already scribbling away on the tablet she never seemed to take her eyes away from. He still couldn’t decide if it was insulting or relieving that she usually talked to him without looking at him. Squinting at the screen, she grabbed his arm and turned his back towards her, frowning when she saw the deep gash.

Blood was beginning to run down his skin, dripping on his shirt and he grunted as he twisted. Her tiny fingers palpating his bruised body no longer made his skin crawl and his mind race, and he patiently subjected himself to her meticulous ministrations. At least she wasn’t talking too much this time; it made the proximity and contact more comfortable.

The flesh on his back tingled and she sprayed the wound before running a light wand over it. Vegeta was used to post-encounter medical treatment, but only in the rudimentary treatment whoever he was in a squad with would see to as they practically dumped him in a healing pod. Careless or malicious squad members had resulted in many an unconscious Saiyan drowning in the tanks.

If they made it, though, they would be afforded a _zenkai_ , an energy transformation that could maximize one’s potential power. The cost was high, risking initial death and drowning. A Saiyan who could not trust his squadmates would have to heal on his own, sacrificing the opportunity to grow stronger. The closer a brush with death they had, the higher the zenkai would be.

Bulma’s salves and strange tools seemed to knit him back together in mere hours, and he had grown more confident in his fights, pushing himself to fight more and more. For him, and every Saiyan like him, flirting with death was the key to true power. Yet he felt like he was stalling. In his mind, a second or two less time to take out some pathetic creatures was not enough.

“I want you to make it harder,” he said suddenly, forcing himself to meet her eyes as he continued. “Earth’s gravity is weak, and no matter how many of those things I defeat, or how fast I move, I’ll never get strong enough.”

Bulma’s lips were set in a thin line, and he could feel her disapproval, but he pushed on.

“If I’m ever going to go back out there – if I’m going to find any other Saiyans who are alive – there are planets out there with even worse conditions than you can dream up in the simudeck.”

She rolled her eyes at him and pursed her lips as she laid a bandage over his back.

“The simudeck can’t do that, I’ve told you already. I can’t manipulate something like gravity in there, the whole thing is basically an illusion.”

He was quiet for a moment, weighing his word choice carefully.

“You could make me something else.”

* * *

The ground around Capsule Corp trembled and shook, and the citizens of Metro West wondered once again, certainly not for the first or last time, if this would be the day that Dr. Briefs would blow them off the face of the earth with his experiments. Long accustomed to the strange sounds and sights coming from the compound, passerby hurriedly clutched their belongings and scrambled for nearby cars, eager to get as far away as possible from the noise that was sure to last for hours.

Capsule Corp was known for many things, but tranquility was not one of them. As the home to all the company’s prototype testing, it was to be expected, people reasoned, that strange things would happen. Strange things, they reasoned, that ordinary people need not concern themselves with.

On the first sublevel of the compound’s basement, the lab lights swung wildly on their wires, threatening to rock right over the beams that rose high in the ceiling. Nearly a meter thick, a bundle of heavily insulated cords shuddered on the metal railings they were bolted to. A spark jumped at a junction box, arcing off in a tiny blue flash of light.

The room was cramped, filled wall to wall with computer towers and monitors; the floor was a mess of every cable that escaped the massive wire snake above. Neon blue and green lights contrasted to harsh white overhead lighting, and the room still seemed dark. The chaos of the lab completely hid the once pristine interior of the room, and hardly seemed to fit in with the rest of the neatly organized compound.

But this was not meant to be like every other room. This space was where Bulma Briefs worked her miracles. Her best ideas (and admittedly some of her worst) had been born in the confines of these four walls; it was the cradle of her imagination.

“Three…two…one!”

Bulma’s voice strained to be heard over the mechanical whirring din as she grasped a giant lever on the wall with both hands. She gritted her teeth with effort as she pulled it down until it snapped into place. Sparks showered overhead and she winced, shielding her eyes with her arm.

Scurrying over to a desk crowded with tools and monitors, she snatched up a small handheld microphone. Dials, buttons, and pulsing screens flashed warning signals, and the display text of the monitor she was examining continually blinked and warped. Bulma smacked the screen and muttered a string of curses as she clicked the communication device on.

“Try it again! It has to work this time I’m sure of it!”

No voice came in response, but Vegeta’s figure entered view on the recently smacked screen, his arrogant stride unmistakable. The table rattled beneath her, scrambling the image until Bulma became convinced he wasn’t even moving. His sudden laughter through the intercom speakers startled her and she squeaked.

“What the hell, Vegeta! You’re supposed to be trying to fly so I can figure this out, how am I meant to calibrate it if you don’t move, now?”

A solid thud echoed, and she felt the ceiling above her rattle.

“God damn,” Vegeta roared, his voice sounding more alive than it had in weeks, “but that feels _better_.”

Bulma nearly dropped the microphone in surprise.

“It worked! It actually worked I did it! Turn it up I want to see it really go!”

Her celebration came too soon, though; as soon as she had spoken an ear-splitting ring erupted into static and the receiver shot sparks and smoke. Coughing, she grabbed the fire extinguisher and frantically doused the table, waving the air in front of her face with her free hand.

The door to her left hissed as it slid open, revealing a scorched and wide-eyed Vegeta. His already spiky hair seemed to be standing completely on end and his clothes smoked.

“Well,” he began unsteadily, “at least it finally worked – sort of?”

Bulma groaned but her dismay was overtaken by an exhausted grin, “Told you I could do it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her haughtily, “I distinctly remember you saying ‘Vegeta that’s not how that works’ when I asked.”

She bit her lip and tried not to laugh at his awkwardly pitched voice mocking her, “Yes, but _that_ was about the simudeck. This is…” she held up her hands, still feeling awestruck, “something entirely different. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

She looked around the room at the mess, putting her hand on her hip as she shifted her weight and wiped her forehead, “I’ll have to keep testing it, you know. Now that I know how to get it to activate it needs to be…uh, reinforced. Especially if you want even stronger gravity than Vegetasei.”

Vegeta shook his head in disbelief, “I can’t believe your father was able to find planetary survey records from so long ago. It must have been logged even before the Tuffles got there.”

Bulma went quiet, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts. Occasionally, Vegeta would open up, say something about his past or family as if the guard were slipping for just a moment. She had learned not to push it, not to pry. It only seemed to wound him.

“I have to talk to him,” he continued, “see what other planets there are that he can get me environmental data on. Maybe I can figure out where other Saiyans might be, I could -”

As if noticing his thoughts had become spoken, he stopped short and cleared his throat, frowning again.

“I should go, let you deal with this,” he said stiffly.

He walked brusquely past her but hesitated at the door.

“Thank you. I’m forever in debt to you for this.”

Bulma was left alone in her lab, a whirlwind of excitement over her accomplishment. The success of an artificial gravity chamber was bigger than anything she’d ever worked on. Vegeta’s unusual words of gratitude lingered in her mind as she tried to collect herself and evaluate the damage to her workspace.

Several times in the past weeks she had considered giving up, throwing away the whole idea, and telling Vegeta he was out of luck. But her withdrawal from the university had given her a fervor for her work that she’d never fully expressed before. Until now, she’d been merely content with the choice, happy to continue fine-tuning her father’s work and tweaking the simudeck for Vegeta’s training exercises.

His idea of a gravity chamber, however, had lit a proverbial fire beneath her. _Lessening_ gravity was common practice, at least for the Galactic Patrol trainees, but no one had tried to increase it. The Patrol was resourceful and patient enough to wait for wanted criminals to land on a small enough planet that they could be easily taken in. Besides, no one wanted to take responsibility for what increased gravity could do to humanoids who weren’t accustomed to it.

She smiled softly to herself.

_He’s not just any humanoid though._

The arrogant and sardonic prince had warmed a bit to Earth’s life, despite his odd manners and often formal speech. He still held her father in reverence she didn’t quite understand, but they seemed to get along despite it. Her mother seemed delighted to have a new person around the house and was constantly trying to play hostess. She might even go so far as to say Vegeta had made friends with the family, although she wasn’t sure if he would see it that way.

Bulma wondered about Kakarot, if Vegeta thought of him; if so, he gave no indication. She had attempted to contact Roshi, but he gave a hurried excuse about training regimens, boyish nonsense, no time for fooling around, and rushed off the phone each time she called. Somehow, she felt that showing up unannounced with Vegeta in tow might not blow over so well, so she kept that bit of information to herself. Surely, she thought, Roshi would eventually relent. Or so she hoped.

* * *

The addition of the gravity room left Vegeta feeling as if life had once again been breathed back into him. The strain of flight, the effort it took to remain standing proud and tall, the extra effort every punch and kick took heated his blood and only left him wanting more. Bulma was still always there, the invisible presence on the other side of the wall monitoring his progress.

He was relieved that she refrained from chatter while he trained, altering the gravity and temperature at random levels to constantly keep him on his toes. His rounds with the simple robot she put together at first were short-lived, and he had waited an agonizing week while she and Dr. Briefs integrated the simudeck into the gravity room. The results were impressive, though, and he considered it worth every day he’d listlessly drifted around the compound in anticipation.

Here and there, Dr. Briefs would suggest Vegeta take the opportunity to test out this piece of gear or this nootropic. He seemed completely fascinated by having a Saiyan in the house and had odd new questions nearly every day. Vegeta had been incredibly wary at first, but usually, after only one answer, Dr. Briefs would start muttering to himself and scribbling on his slate. Seeing the man’s hand contort into tools and tablet and back to hand still took Vegeta off guard, and he wasn’t certain he would ever get used to it entirely.

This morning Dr. Briefs had given him a tiny green capsule, and upon being asked what it was had gone off on a dizzying explanation about _ki_ waves and blutz frequencies and something about energy transmitter sites. Vegeta had tried to follow, hopelessly lost, until Bulma interrupted her father’s esoteric rambling.

“He wants you to use the Galick Gun,” she rolled her eyes, “I put together some new AI enemies based on the aliens you told me about. Show me what you can do, killer.”

His tail tingled at the nickname and he fought the urge to tighten it around his waist, merely giving a nod of assent as he headed into the simudeck. Pride surged in him at her acknowledgment of his prowess, though he determined to keep the emotion to himself. She seemed to react strangely if he questioned her compliments to him.

The deck door slid quietly shut behind him, leaving him in the red glow of the standby lights for a moment. The walls shimmered and Bulma’s voice came over the speaker.

“Twelve February, era seven hundred and fifty. Zero nine hundred Earth hours,” the brief hesitation in her voice caught Vegeta’s attention, and he sucked in a sharp breath as she continued, “Subject faces _Gappei_ from the twelfth moon of Galata. Simulation beginning in five seconds.”

Vegeta locked his jaw and felt his heart race as he braced himself on the floor. Ghostly blue light filled the room and the floor beneath his feet became dusty, swirling in tiny eddies as the wind picked up. The air was damp and stale, and he could already hear it whistling in the distance over skeletal rock formations that littered the moon.

“Four, three, two, one.”

Even the door disappeared behind him, and the cold gave a momentary shock to his skin as the simulation reached capacity. The moon shook as a battle pod appeared screaming overhead and slammed into the ground. Vegeta threw up an arm to shield his face, skidding backward a fraction as he bent his knees to maintain his balance. The markings on the pod were odd and didn’t match anything he knew.

_It’s just a simulation. You can’t expect anything predictable or familiar._

The pod door hissed open and an enormous Gappei ducked out, unfolding to full size. It towered above the pod, at least twice its height; pale purple skin rose to end in wickedly curved horns on its head. Tar black eyes that lacked irises locked on Vegeta as they scanned the moon. He recognized the guttural voice of all the simulations as it spoke in choppy sentences.

“Protocol. Training. Objective. Eliminate target. Vegeta. Force level. Lethal.”

In the next breath, the Gappei rushed towards him, swinging a massively muscled arm that ended in taloned fingers towards Vegeta’s head. His entire body tense, Vegeta waited until the last possible instant before ducking the blow. It was close, too close, and he felt the arm brush his hair. Carrying his momentum from dodging, he spun and launched a fist straight into its chest.

Slimy yellow blood burst from the wound and the Gappei flickered, crumbling at his feet. Annoyance surged in Vegeta at the ease of the kill.

“Stop wasting my time!” he snarled, “I need -”

The rest of his words were cut off as two more pods slammed into the moon on either side of him, fifty meters apart. Vegeta turned to look, and the fallen Gappei’s arm flashed out, yanking his leg and upsetting him onto the ground. He kicked, hard, crushing the Gappei’s head and scrambling to his feet as the head and body disappeared.

By the time he stood, the other two pods had already opened, revealing two more Gappei. Not waiting to finish speaking, they charged at him while repeating their directive.

Vegeta tried to lunge forward, stumbling as he felt the gravity increase. A smile twisted his face as he glared hatefully at the approaching Gappei. Freiza’s top commander had been an insufferable boor obsessed with their own honor, as were most Gappei. Devoid of accomplishment, they flaunted their empty stations and titles like puppets. Years of the arrogance had grated on Vegeta and he roared as he flew to meet the one on his left.

Expecting a blow, Vegeta compressed himself, tucking an arm behind his back and preparing to strike. His hand seemed to glance off the Gappei’s chin and it moved in the same instant to wrap its arms around him. Vegeta grunted with effort as the muscles in its arms coiled and crushed him. He felt a rib snap, then a second, and snarled in pain. Thundering footsteps echoed behind him and the hair on Vegeta’s neck rose as he realized he had been baited and trapped.

Fury seethed in him over his miscalculation and he felt his rage blind him. Ki swelled up from deep in his core, settling a hazy red mist over his vision that turned everything a violent fuchsia hue. Straining with every fiber of his being, Vegeta gave a primal roar and dug his hands into the Gappei’s arms. Bracing the balls of his feet against its chest, he ripped savagely at the Gappei’s forearms and kicked as hard as he could.

The arms ripped free with a disgusting squelching noise as the simulated joints and sinew snapped and tore, sending a spray of yellow blood in an arc. The dusty ground sucked at the liquid pouring from the fading corpse as the simulation vanished. With no time to dodge, Vegeta blocked the first kick from the still oncoming Gappei - and paid dearly for it. His ears rung from the impact and the increasing gravity nearly dragged him to his feet for an instant, clutching his arm as it hung limply from the elbow.

Fighting the anger for focus, he ducked the next swing from the Gappei’s massive arm, spinning behind it to deliver a kick to the back of its knee. The towering alien staggered and Vegeta seized the opportunity to put distance between the two of them, flying straight up into the air. The sound of four more pods slamming into the moon sent ice down his spine and he felt himself swell with pride and adrenaline. Gritting his teeth, he shoved his arm back into place, with an agonizing grunt.

_I have to take them on one-on-one. If I don’t kill this one before the others come out…_

Without wasting a second he hurled himself toward the ground at the Gappei who was just standing. Vegeta spun at the last instant, slamming both his fists together into the Gappei’s chest and driving it back to the ground. Its head rocked and bounced off the hard-packed surface, flying up to meet Vegeta’s fists again. The cold black eyes slid shut as the Gappei died and disappeared.

Vegeta barely had time to stand as the four new Gappei in front of him advanced. The two in the middle rushed straight for him together, while the two on to his far left and right began to skirt the edge of the battle area. He immediately recognized a pinscher maneuver and abandoned the two fighters in the middle to fly towards the flanking alien to his right.

A flurry of fast strikes engaged the Gappei as Vegeta danced around it. The two Gappei in the middle had swung wide to follow him, launching ki blasts after him. Sweat slicked Vegeta’s skin as he dodged the Gappei’s return blows and the blasts from his pursuers. A sixth sense tingled somewhere in the corner of his mind and he rolled to the ground between the Gappei’s legs, using it as a body shield.

Seemingly in the same instant, his pursuer’s powerful ki blast slammed into the Gappei he hid behind, obliterating it. Vegeta cursed, wiping the disgusting blood from his face and planting his feet heavily and drawing ki from deep within. Desperately, he tried to form the Galick Gun, but as the energy surged in him, he realized there wasn’t enough time. Abandoning the attack, he relished in the glow of the ki still surrounding him before throwing back his head and roaring with his chest to the sky.

He could feel every muscle strand in his legs tensing and engaging as he threw himself at the pair of Gappei. Time seemed to stretch out and he noticed every minuscule movement from the pair; it was as if their attacks were spelled out for him. The body language now seemed so easy to read and he moved with lightning speed, forcing his muscles to adapt to the still increasing gravity.

The dusty ground pulled at him and he fought its embrace, moving his feet as little as possible and dodging or rolling every attack. Second by second, he drove the two backward, his mind humming with the sweet song of combat. Simulated flesh tore and ripped until the Gappei shimmered and glitched in front of him under the onslaught of his fists.

One of them lunged forward, bending itself nearly in half to reach him with a punch, and he vaulted up its arm. With a mad leap, he swung from the elongated horns adorning its head and threw his weight into the other. The wild kick seemed to tear through the second Gappei like a hot knife through butter and it vanished before its blood even hit the ground.

Not waiting for his previous opponent to respond, Vegeta swung hard from below and caught it in the chin. The head crunched and snapped as the neck went limp, hitting the ground in a cloud of dust. Taking advantage of the dirt Vegeta flew towards the last standing Gappei, skidding across the ground and stomping into the dirt as hard as he could. A veritable wave of silty dust flew towards the Gappei and Vegeta leaped towards it with an open palm ready to kill.

In the moments before impact, Vegeta stared at his hand in amazement; just as it collided with the Gappei’s forehead he noticed tiny purple sparks dancing between his fingers. A thunderous boom broke out across the sky as the Gappei’s face caved in and it flew backward into a rock formation before disappearing.

_Impossible! It almost feels like a Galick Gun, but how?_

Vegeta held his hands up to his face, his pulse racing in his neck. He was certain he could see his veins move as he turned his hands. More pods slammed into the moon and he turned to count.

_Eight. This is it, it’s now or never._

The ground pulled at him again and somewhere in the distance he thought he heard a groaning whine from deep in the moon. Fighting the pull of gravity, he flew straight up again, already gathering his ki as he rose. The Gappei stepped from their pods in unison, already uttering their directive as the Galick Gun began to beam brilliant purple light from his hands.

His blood ran cold and he shook as he inhaled, his hands quivering from adrenaline and the effort of holding such a massive amount of energy. No attack he had ever fired had felt like this before. Purple sparks arced and crackled up his arm as he roared one final time, hurling the Galick Gun at the Gappei.

Like a lightning storm, the Galick Gun shot out in every direction, sizzling the damp air and hissing on the shattering rocks. Debris pelted him for an instant and then the entire planet dissolved in a haze as the simudeck powered down with a terrible mechanical whine. Vegeta gasped for breath and looked around, trying to adjust to the reality of being in the small, red-lit chamber again.

To his surprise, he easily floated to the ground, shaking his sore arm as he walked to the door. Bulma and Dr. Briefs stood on the other side of it, white-faced and stunned. With considerable effort, he steadied himself, trying to loosen his grip on the raging river of ki still flaring within him. Bulma’s voice seemed equally unsteady when she spoke.

“That was…thirty seconds…” she murmured.


	5. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Fa Pan is free of the demon, how will it handle outsiders?

NOVEMBER, 749

News that the fire demon at Fa Pan had been defeated soon spread far and wide across the central provinces. The dusky orange hue that had lain across the western horizon for so many years simply vanished overnight, sparking excited chatter amongst the small towns and villages. From tiny cabbage farms to slaughterhouses, all the way to the central capitol, people guessed and gossiped about the fate of Fa Pan and its inhabitants.

Some of those people spoke bitterly of the incident, blaming the Ox King for not finding a capable champion sooner; perhaps then they would not have had to leave Fa Pan after trying to escape the Eastern Wars. But those were the sorts of people who were generally disagreeable about anything in life, and their neighbors scolded them for as much.

One such disagreeable man squinted at the overhead sun and grumbled discontentedly to himself. His loose, slit pants offered a paltry excuse for a breeze when there was none. He nearly blended into the waist-high grasses, his clothes a mottled range of green and gray hues. It was strange, he thought, that the plains should reach so far west. He frowned, looking behind him again to ensure he was headed in the right direction. It was to no avail, as the plains growth was too high to see very far. The sun would have to do for a bearing, and he slunk on through the sea of green.

An hour passed, then another, and his frustration grew as he continued to trudge west. Where for years there had been a desert, lush hills rolled one after another. Even more bizarre, not a trace of sand remained. A dark, curved shape ahead caught his eye and he froze, ducking lower to the ground. The talon of a sandworm was unmistakable. A chill snaked down his spine and he forcibly leveled his breath. Minutes passed and his fear mounted at the stillness of that terrifying talon. Sandworms were vicious, but rarely remained above ground for so long. If this one lay so still…

He shivered at the thought of what predator that could take down a sandworm. Curiosity winning out against his fear, the man dropped to his belly, snaking along the ground and cautiously rising every few minutes until the massive creature came into better view. As his eyes rose to the grainy tips of grass, he sucked his breath in sharply. The sandworm lay on its back, razor sharp legs and talons clawing toward the sky in a death pose. He looked harder, blinking in disbelief. The once-soft underbelly was shriveled and dried; this creature was weeks dead.

Bringing a slim wooden whistle to his lips, he blew gently. A single sour note rang out and a moment later a rustle sounded to his right. Another man in nearly identical garb emerged from the grass, gaping as he stood upright.

“Jenfa, what are you – by Kami! It’s dead!” the man exclaimed.

Jenfa lowered his whistle, “Lower your voice, Coronel, no one is going to mistake your babbling for a bird call,” Jenfa hissed, “Now what is it doing in the grass here, is what I’d like to know.”

Coronel reached beneath the hood framing his face and scratched his head, “Well, maybe it got lost.”

Jenfa glared at his companion, “You always were stupid, Coronel. This should all be desert. Where is the sand? Why is there so much grass?”

“The fire demon took it with him?”

Jenfa cursed, “It’s been three days. We should be almost at Fa Pan, we should have crossed the dunes yesterday. Instead,” he kicked at the fertile earth, “we’re in the middle of some endless fucking fields that shouldn’t be here.”

Coronel considered for a moment, “Maybe we got lost?” he offered helpfully.

Jenfa threw up his hands, “If you weren’t so strong, I’d have left you back home for being such an idiot. Now tell me, how are we supposed to loot Fa Pan if we can’t find our way there, eh?” Jenfa shook his head in irritation and kicked the sandworm carcass, “We walk on. You know the legends about Fa Pan’s treasure horde as well as I do. I won’t let a little grass keep me away.”

He sounded much more confident than he felt, for Jenfa was the type of person to bluster and threaten but never follow through. It was for this very reason that only Coronel had been convinced by his plan to steal Fa Pan’s treasure. The rest of the village had laughed at him; it was not the first time Jenfa set off on a supposedly grand adventure, only to return home a week later with his head low and nothing to show for it.

Besides, they had teased, what would he do if the great Ox-King was still there? Perhaps he had defeated the fire demon himself. Anger simmered in Jenfa and he clenched his jaw as he stalked through the grass with a little less stealth than before. As far as he was concerned, the Ox-King was a coward for not defending Fa Pan the night it was attacked. Surely a coward would not have been able to defeat the fire demon, and, he reasoned, a coward would not be waiting for him.

Jenfa crested another hill and stopped short. A tree line in the distance shifted and he felt a cool breeze coming from them. Squinting, he turned around, hoping to finally be able to gauge the distance he had traversed. Disbelief struck him as he surveyed the rolling hills that were once covered in sand.

Somehow, the desert that had guarded Fa Pan for decades, even before the fire demon, was now a green sea of plant life. The familiar gates stood just inside the trees, just as he remembered. He blew his whistle again, and Coronel’s head popped up from the grass as he too reached the summit.

* * *

“CORONEL RUUUUUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!” Jenfa’s screams were lost in the thick trees and his heart pounded in his chest.

A snarl somewhere behind him filled his gut with fear and he felt sweat stinging his eyes. His lungs ached and burned with effort as he tried to force his legs onward through the forest. There was no going back to find Coronel, not now that this _thing_ was chasing them.

They had nearly made it to the southern walls of Fa Pan, and barely had time to quarrel amongst themselves about the best way to climb in when the hair on the back of his neck had stood on end. Coronel’s eyes had looked nearly ready to pop out of his head, and Jenfa followed his shaky finger to look behind them – just in time to see the shadows themselves from the trees behind Fa Pan’s walls reaching out with sharp, clawed hands.

Jenfa had tried to scream, but vomited instead, nearly tripping and falling on the disgusting slick as he ran blindly. The forest near Fa Pan was said to be inhabited by demonic wolf spirits, and many of the refugees who had fled Fa Pan claimed it was the wolf spirits who sent the fire demon to the village in the first place. Jenfa did not consider himself superstitious, and so into the forest he ran.

Coronel’s voice wailed somewhere to his right and Jenfa stumbled to the ground, gashing his knees against the undergrowth choking the floor. Momentarily dazed, he stared up at the dizzying canopy above him. The foliage here was so thick he could not even make out where the sun lay in the sky; could not make out which way he was running. Frantic, he dragged himself up and tried to run on.

Rapid, pounding footsteps still pursued him, gaining on him even now. His hood had slipped down around his shoulders and his shirt was torn down the back, leaving the dirty fabric flapping behind him. The footsteps were closer now, accompanied by an ominous panting. Jenfa was too terrified to turn around, and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight on end. No ordinary wolf would sound so loud, and his heart slammed against his ribs in renewed panic. No wolf that big would flag before he did.

Skidding to a halt so fast his head spun, Jenfa forced his body to turn and face his pursuer – and saw nothing. The snarls, the heavy breathing, the thundering paws on the ground had stopped, leaving the forest in terrifying and unnatural silence. Nearly choking, Jenfa tried desperately to level his breathing and with a shaky hand drew the long knife from his belt.

To his left, the shadow of a large tree swelled and stretched, growing wider before slipping across the ground and disappearing into the shadow of another tree. Closer and closer the shadows jumped and crawled toward him, with an unnerving silence. Nothing else in the forest moved, and Jenfa found himself backed against the trunk of a thick pine tree. Spiny bark dug through his clothes and his skin burned as he desperately pressed harder against it and looked around frantically. The shadows were only a few meters away now.

With a bone-chilling roar, the head of a wolf sprang forward and the forest seemed to go black as night. Jenfa screamed, flailing about wildly with his knife, slashing in every direction as he strained to see in the dark. A wide, savage set of bright white teeth bared themselves at him through the blackness, more horrifying than any tale told of the forest demons. A howl came from the mouth and was immediately followed by a blow to his wrist, then ribs. And with that, Jenfa the coward fainted.

Thunderous pounding on the gate of Fa Pan rang across the stone courtyard and echoed off the tiled roofs.

“Open up in the name of the Central Capital Government! Open the gate for Kung Lei-Tian, Imperial Duizhu of the Central Provincial Force!

Gyumao’s surprised voice came from inside the gate, “The Duizhu!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been expecting you, please.”

The towering structure groaned and metal clanked as Gyumao lifted the heavy bar, letting the gate swing open towards the village.

Kung was an impressive figure in his imperial armor, black and red gleaming in the sun. He stood nearly as tall as Gyumao, with dark, ruddy skin and black hair stuffed into his helmet shaped like a dragon’s head. His station was apparent in his walk – that of a battle-hardened man intent on a purposeful task. A few day’s stubble darkened his chin, exposing a jagged scar across the chin.

Gyumao bowed as Kung strode through the gates and stopped, surrounded by twenty guards and followed closely by a bespectacled man and what was clearly his secretary. Kung bowed his head slightly.

“May your axe never rust. May your sword never dull. May your hammer never chip.” Kung stated formally, “Please, let us proceed.”

Gyumao held his hand toward the house and led the way. As they reached the door, Kung waved to the guards, who nodded and separated to surround the building. Only the ununiformed man and his assistant followed them inside. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Gyumao broke into a wide smile, opening his arms wide. Kung embraced him in a hearty hug, his commanding face softening a bit as he stepped back to meet his host’s eyes.

“Ah, it has been too long, brother,” he said, still not quite smiling.

Gyumao shook his head, not bothering to hide his grin, “Perhaps, you have grown soft in your new position. Your commander’s boot at your back might have motivated you to get here sooner.”

Kung took the jab in stride.

“You forget that skill is required for battles of diplomacy as well as the war front. You should always be studying the art of war, even in times of peace.” Lei-Tian looked concerned, but there was a glint in his eye. “I always did have more of a head for matters of state, while you were concerned with heroics.”

“And yet it took you, the great Lei-Tian until I retired, put out to pasture, to catch up to me in rank,” Gyumao quipped.

A smile finally broke Kung’s face and his teeth gleamed as he threw back his head and laughed, “That it did, brother Gyu. But tell me,” he began eagerly as he removed his armor, “what is this proposition you have that was so urgent you requested a personal visit?”

Gyumao held his hands up, “Patience, now. Come sit, and I can tell you.”

The two men found their seats again around the wide table, settling easily despite their size and barely noticing the other two officials sitting at the other end of the table. Gyumao produced a fat, plum-colored bottle from under the table and poured for them, releasing a cloying, fruity scent. At a flick of Kung’s wrist, the officials both began typing rapidly on slates.

“You may begin negotiations,” the official in charge stated shortly.

They toasted, tossing back the sweet wine liquor.

“Let us begin,” Gyumao started, “You are aware that I was granted the region of Fa Pan at the end of the Red Ribbon Rebellion, yes?”

Kung nodded, eyeing the plum-colored bottle momentarily before Gyumao continued.

“Generous as rewards go, but I’ve been hearing rumors when I make it into nearby cities that the Central Commission seems to have overdone it a bit on the wartime spoils. They’re saying that now they have debts to pay back to the citizens, and no capital to pay it with.”

“An unfortunate problem indeed, brother. But you must know this is my job to deal with, and I am aware of the problem as such,” Kung looked thoughtful, “which makes me think you have something for me.”

Gyumao poured for them again, nodding enthusiastically, “I propose a transaction.”

The official’s typing paused, then sped up again.

“I will offer the Central Commission usage and ownership of my lands – all of Fa Pan. You admitted it yourself, they owe a massive debt to the citizens. But people are starting to tire of the city, they want to strike out on their own now that the region has stabilized. Word is spreading already, I’m sure, that the fire demon here is gone.

“The Central Commission can use the land, parcel it up between farmland and businesses, offer property to the citizens as payment for the war debts. In return, I rule here with an official position on an imperial salary,” Gyumao leaned back a bit, resting against the wall beam behind him, “And, I’ll even promise to invest my own personal capital into the new businesses that want to open up here.”

Kung was quiet for a moment before placing his cup precisely on the table in front of him. “Well now, I had suspected you had something for me, but it looks like you’ve also managed to put yourself in quite a lucrative position.”

Gyumao’s features were schooled, but a smile tugged at the corners of his eyes, “You have to admit, it’s not bad,” he said, adding, “for someone who prefers to stick to heroics.”

A yell from outside interrupted them, and one of the officials dropped his slate. Muffled voices sounded through the door.

“I demand you open the door at once! I have to speak with Gyumao!” Yamcha was protesting loudly.

The door banged open then with one of the guards apologizing profusely, “Apologies, Imperial Sirs, but this…this savage ruffian was dragging these clearly assaulted men up and –“

The guard had Yamcha by the collar, and Gyumao glared at him, banging his fist on the table. Two other filthy men knelt on the floor next to them, awkwardly tied to one another’s wrists.

“Put him down this instant! What’s the meaning of this? Yamcha, what happened?”

Jerking angrily away from the guard, Yamcha pointed at the pair of bound men, “I was patrolling the wall, and I came across these two trying to find a way to climb in. They were planning on robbing the palace.”

The larger of the two bound men groaned, mumbling incoherently and shaking. Gyumao swung his gaze back to the guard.

“So, do you mean to tell me that you stopped my _only_ guard here, who was on his way to deliver the very intruders I was expecting, and you not only stopped him from reporting but dragged him in here as if _he_ were the prisoner?”

The guard paled, his mouth working soundlessly, “A thousand apologies, sir, I did not realize…that is I did not know…” he trailed off, stammering.

Kung motioned to the officials, “That will be all for now. We will resume negotiations later. I must speak to the Gyumao and this young man now. I am very interested in these…prisoners.” He glanced at Gyumao again. “These are the bandits you spoke of when you contacted me, yes?”

Gyumao nodded, “They’ve been skulking around the outside of the walls the last several days, even trying to climb the wall at one point. I set Yamcha here to watch them.”

The guard pulled the bound men to their feet and led them out the door behind the officials. Gyumao was already beckoning Yamcha over.

“Kung, this is the other reason I wanted you to come. This is Yamcha, the only survivor of the Okami no Kiba.”

Kung’s eyebrows rose and he looked Yamcha hard as he came over to the table and gave an awkward bow.

Gyumao spoke again, his voice low and confiding, “You’ve been after the Tokai for some time, yes?”

Kung looked at him sharply and narrowed his eyes at Yamcha, “You must truly have something interesting for me if you willingly name them in his presence.”

“Yamcha here does not need to name them. He has killed one of them.”

Kung’s face turned thoughtful and he seemed to settle where he sat before glancing at Yamcha.

“Come, boy. Sit.”

“Thank you, sir. I apologize for interrupting your discussions; I was not expecting you to be here,” Yamcha shot a questioning glance at Gyumao.

Kung took the bottle this time, pouring for the three of them. He was thoughtful as he sipped the wine, slowly this time.

“So, you claim to have killed one of the Tokai. The Central Commission has been after them for years with no proof or trail to follow, the reward for their heads is quite high.”

Again, Kung set his cup down deliberately. He leveled his gaze at Yamcha.

“Rewards, though, only apply for licensed bounty hunters. Without a license, killing a wanted man simply makes you a murderer.”

The tension in the air was heavy, and Kung’s eyes bored through Yamcha like a fire iron.

“But, lucky for you, some information is valuable enough that I would pay almost any price for it – including granting amnesty. Now, are you willing to negotiate?”

* * *

Yamcha’s head swirled as he watched the Central Commission’s airships depart. He had forced himself to remain calm while speaking with Kung, who had been full of rapid-fire questions.

Who was Yamcha working with? No one, he lied. How did he learn where Shen was? It was an accident, he was hunting, and Shen attacked him first.

Yamcha had decided the day he returned to Fa Pan that he alone would bear whatever fallout came from Shen’s death. He refused to put that on Tien’s head. He hadn’t considered the possibility of actually having the chance to sell Tien out, but when Kung had asked, his mouth opened without a second thought. He even spilled where he killed him, suggesting that the body might still be there if Kung’s agents wanted to scout the area.

The imperial agent had stared at him long and hard, and Yamcha had dug his fingers into his knees beneath the table to keep himself from shaking. Standing now, he could already feel the bruises beginning to form. The talking had seemed to last forever. He felt himself sag with relief as the ships left sight in the sky, now pink with sunset.

“You don’t suppose they’ll come back, now?” Yamcha asked Gyumao.

“Oh to be certain, they will. After all, Duizhu Kung must present my offer to the Central Commission. I have no doubt he will accept, and will definitely have to return here to oversee the installation of officials,” he looked closer at Yamcha, “You seem troubled, what is it?”

Yamcha took a deep breath, meeting Gyumao’s eyes with some difficulty, “He knew. He knew I was lying…about doing it on my own. What if he comes back and decides to arrest me for the murder? You heard what he said about illegal bounty hunting.”

Gyumao looked thoughtful for a moment, “There is great honor between Duizhu Kung and me. We share a brotherhood bond of blood. He understands that I have taken you as my charge, and that I hold myself responsible for your conduct. In a way, my honor is extended to you.

“Kung could probably see right through you in an instant. But because of that, he knew that you only concealed the whole truth to protect someone else. And you held up your end of the bargain. You gave him the information he really wanted – the location of a member of the Tokai. You have shown yourself to be honorable, by your own merit in his eyes. I would not shy away from him when he visits again, were I in your shoes.”

Gyumao’s tone was serious, and Yamcha tried to put his mind at ease. He certainly did not want to make Gyumao look bad, but he would remain on his guard until his next encounter with Kung.

 _A different kind of honor._ He thought, as they headed back toward the house.

* * *

Saltwater lapped at the shore of Roshi’s island, and the morning air was still cool. The sunset had nearly faded, leaving the horizon a hundred hues of lavender and bright blue. Kakarot sat facing Roshi, the sun warming them where it cut through the leaves of the heavy palm trees above them. Palms upward, their chests rose in rhythm, so slowly the fabric of their gi barely moved.

Kakarot let his mind drift, holding himself as if pulled upright by a string. He felt every grain of sand beneath him and filled his lungs with the ocean air, taking in how every fiber of his being was alive.

“Harmony,” Roshi spoke softly; almost too softly to hear, “will be your greatest weapon in every battle. Especially those you fight with yourself.”

Kakarot nodded slowly, silently.

“Open your eyes. And listen closely,” Roshi’s hands lay weightlessly on his knees, palms to the sky, “I have taught you to manifest your ki, to hold it even. I have taught you meditation, oneness with your surroundings, and you have learned basic form motions of physical attacks. Today, you will combine all of these. Every lesson you learned has trained a part of you. Make those parts work together, in harmony.”

Roshi rose from his seat and walked away from the house, motioning for Kakarot to stand next to him and observe, “I am going to teach you the signature technique of my school of martial arts. Now, the ocean is fickle. She may produce one wave for the great sea turtle to ride and destroy a coastal town with another. So is the power of the Great Kamehameha Wave. It is an ocean that you wield in your hands, and if you can’t control it, it will destroy everything around you.”

Karakot, hastily mimicking his master’s stance, tried to also watch intently as Roshi spread his feet as wide as his shoulders, moving into Post Stands In the Field. The air grew heavy and Kakarot’s skin tingled as he strained to take in every minute detail about Roshi’s movements. His finger width, gaze placement, weight distribution, his breathing. Wordlessly, Kakarot mentally rehearsed the sequence as Roshi’s body seemed to grow and strengthen as it had at Fa Pan.

Drawing his palms together, Roshi inhaled deep, bearing down hard on the sand as his fingertips curled. Blue light swirled around and down his arms, flowing like water towards his wrists. Kakarot was mesmerized, unconsciously copying the training stance and movements.

Roshi’s strong voice thundered across the beach.

“Kaaaa!”

 _Ka._ Kakarot rehearsed in his head.

“Meeee!”

_Me. One foot in front of the other._

“Haaaa!”

_Ha. Wrist bent to the right._

“Meeee!”

_Me. Eyes to the horizon._

“HAAAA!” Roshi roared, sending a blast of blue energy into the breaking waves and exposing the sand and kelp deep below.

The force of the blow sent sand and water flying over the entire island. Fish flopped on the slope that disappeared into a gaping black abyss. The ocean collapsed back in on itself and seagulls squawked in the distance at the salty spray.

_Ha._ _Cattle Rushes_ _the Gate._

As Kakarot twisted his shoulders and extended his arms forward, his tail tingled, then twitched away from his waist as a chill raced across each side of his chest and down his arms. The air seemed to come alive around him, seeping into his skin and filling his mind with energy. Like a torrent he let it roar across him in his head, pushing away every thought except defeating that frothing sea of sheer power.

He exhaled, and cold seemed to rush down his arms; the air above his skin swirled blue. The color pooled at his palms, growing so bright his vision became white.

 _I’m doing it!_ He realized, as felt the ki leave his hands.

The ground gave way beneath his feet and Kame House rattled as the air thundered with the force of his Kamehameha. The palm tree next to the house was flying off into the ocean, he realized.

_I must have hit the tree instead of the water._

His knees buckled beneath him and he sank to the sand as the enormous tree crashed into the water with a huge splash. His ears rang, and he tried to focus on Roshi who was standing over him with a horrified look on his face.

“You were supposed to – to wait! And look at – LOOK AT THAT!” Roshi gesticulated wildly to the rapidly sinking tree, “Now my tree is in the ocean!”

Dazed, Kakarot tried to mumble an apology, but his mouth refused to move.

_I feel like I’m about to fall asleep._

Roshi suddenly seemed to realize that Kakarot was slumped limply on the ground and knelt down.

“Hey there, you all right?” he slapped the side of his face, a little too roughly, Kakarot thought.

“You aren’t supposed to release all your ki at once! Now look at you, hobbled over like a man ten times your age.”

A wiry arm slipped beneath Kakarot as Roshi straightened him up to a sitting position. He placed a hand over Kakarot’s chest, closed his eyes, and pressed hard. Energy surged into Kakarot in an instant, vibrating his skin and making his head spin. It left as quickly as it came, and he found he suddenly had the strength to take a full breath in again.

Roshi stood back up, wagging a bony finger at Kakarot, “Now what did you go and do that for? You were _supposed_ to wait until I was ready to direct you.”

Kakarot grinned sheepishly in spite of himself, dusting his legs off, “I guess I kinda just got carried away watchin’ you. Hey, Master Roshi, how come I feel okay now? Did you give me some of your ki?” he stretched high, turning his hands and arms in wonderment.

“Ahhhmmmph!” Roshi snorted, “Never mind that. Just…Just go get my tree!”

Kakarot bounded to the shore and jumped in, hard before slipping through the water after the tree. The cold invigorated him, and he laughed out loud for the sheer enjoyment.

_I finally can use blast attacks! Wait till I tell Vegeta about this!_

Even the momentary thought of their less-than-happy parting could not dull his excitement over his new triumph. He dove straight down as Roshi had taught him, bursting from the water again with the tree before him. It took only minutes for him to return to the shore, dragging the massive palm behind him.

Roshi had his arms crossed and still appeared unimpressed. “Well don’t just stand there like a rock, put it back where it belongs,” he huffed and stomped off towards his chair before plopping down in irritation.

Kakarot spit out seawater and shook his soaked hair before walking over to the gaping hole where the palm had stood. It was an arduous task, but he managed to clear the hole and lug the palm back into place, although not without a good amount of grunting and straining. Red-faced, he trotted over to Roshi and plopped down on his back in the sand.

“Don’t worry,” he panted, “I’ll try not to do it again. I just gotta practice!”

Roshi blustered, kicking sand at Kakarot, “You will do no such thing on this island. I’ll take you to another one, or next thing I know there won’t _be_ and island left after you attack it,” he narrowed his eyes at Kakarot, wagging his finger again, “You certainly are old Gohan’s pupil, that’s for sure. A Kamehameha Wave that big, on the first try. I thought you couldn’t use ki based attacks?”

Kakarot sat up, squinting into the sun, and nodded, “Yeah, Vegeta can do ‘em, but he gets really tired after just like me. But I’m too little, I mean I _was_ too little. But now I’m getting’ so strong!” he sat up excitedly.

“Hmm, yes, quite. Quite strong. Let’s see how you do with something that isn’t an attack,” Roshi snapped at him impatiently, already standing and striding away.

“Now this, is called the After-Image Technique. No more of this blasting nonsense for today. Besides, you never know when a good trick up your sleeve will come in handy.”

Kakarot scrambled eagerly to his feet, eyes already locked on Roshi. The old man turned to face him and, folding his hands behind his back began an easy ambling walk. It almost reminded Kakarot of Gohan’s walk, and he felt a brief twist in his chest.

“The After Image is generated by mixing your ki with that of the environment around you. You bend and manipulate the water in the air, the light bouncing off of it, to create an after image imbued with your ki.”

As he spoke, he turned to begin a wide circle around Kakarot. Suddenly, his right leg seemed to blur and trail away from his body, and then there were two Roshis; then three, then four. Kakarot snapped his head side to side, trying to discern which one was the real one as they surrounded him.

Gambling, Kakarot threw himself at the Roshi directly behind him, aiming for the chest with his shoulder. He slammed into a still firmly rooted palm behind the illusion and croaked as he hit the ground. He had moved as fast as he could but had misjudged which was the real Roshi. Coughing, he stood as the four Roshis melded back into one.

“It is a trick of the eye, nothing more. But sometimes that’s all you need to get an edge over your opponent. Remember that every instant, every heartbeat counts.”

“I can,” Kakarot wheezed, “do it.”

Roshi removed his hands from behind his back. “That’s enough of that from you. There will be plenty of time to practice when you haven’t worked yourself to the brink of exhaustion on borrowed energy. No more ki usage for the next week. I want you contemplating on what you have learned from your mistakes with both techniques.”

Kakarot started to protest and Roshi cut him off, “When you agreed to let me teach you, you promised to obey my every instruction.”

Kakarot nodded.

“Good. Now, I think there are other lessons you could use some practice in. There’s more to life than meditation, control, tricking people, and destroying things. Why don’t you go visit Fa Pan again? I’m sure Chi and the others would love to see you again.”

* * *

Vegeta was following Bulma around the Capsule compound again, which was not unusual. What was unusual, however, was that rather than his usual awkward conversation when she tried to engage him, Vegeta was chatting away, trying to keep pace with Bulma.

“I’m telling you, I know they’re still out there. The old man lived in a mountain, there’s no way anyone’s found them. Besides, you told me humans are wary of stuff they don’t recognize.”

Bulma continued to enter her workroom, eyes still glued to her slate screen.

“I did, and I also told you I haven’t tried to work on a spacecraft since I was a kid. I’m sure Saiyan pods wouldn’t be that different. Dad says they’re a waste of effort because they’re so simplistic, and he’s not wrong,” she plopped down in her chair, “Flight is easy. Boring. There’s no challenge.”

Vegeta huffed and crossed his arms, sitting down across from her backward on a low backed stool. It was the only chair in her lab that didn’t make him feel like his feet were about to come off the floor. He slouched further down and let his legs relax.

“What are you working on that’s more important than me getting back into space to find my people?” he winced at his accusing tone, but his pride refused to allow him to back down now.

Bulma stiffened, “This may come as a surprise to you as a _prince_ , but there are other needs in the galaxy besides yours. I happen to be trying to synthesize a muscular repair enzyme,” she glared as she clicked a pen angrily and began to scribble on a small notepad, “to save people’s lives. While you’re after going right back to be a planetary mercenary.”

Vegeta bristled at the accusation, floundering for a retort. When he gave none, Bulma shook her head in annoyance and went back to scribbling.

“You know, my Dad thinks we shouldn’t let you go,” she stopped writing for a moment and stared at him over the edge of her tablet, “You didn’t tell me you were a war criminal, Vegeta.”

Vegeta’s heart skipped a beat, then slammed into his ribs. His hands felt hot and the soles of his feet tingled. The emotion, so foreign and rarely felt shook him and dried his mouth. Shame.

He didn’t want to tell her. Hadn’t wanted to the whole time. Her father must have known all along, known while he told a pleasant tale of a wounded Saiyan. He tried to stifle the emotion, but it choked him until his throat felt swollen. Bulma sounded…disappointed.

“Well?” she demanded, her eyes filling with tears, “don’t you have anything to say?”

Vegeta met her eyes, wishing he could take back every word, every cursed day he’d spent on earth. His face burned as he tried to will himself to speak.

_Fuck this planet and fuck her for bringing it up._

“Kakarot doesn’t know – honestly only a few people did. My father didn’t voluntarily enlist in the Freiza Force,” he coughed, trying to force his throat to work again.

“We were slaves,” he managed to croak out.

* * *

_As was according to Saiyan custom,_ _Freiza_ _arrived at_ _Vegetasei_ _’s palace alone, unescorted. He ignored everyone in the palace, refusing to speak to the guards he passed. He strode through the doors to the King’s reception hall, letting the heavy lacquered doors slam shut behind him._

_“As you know,”_ _Freiza_ _began abruptly, “we have been in the business of buying up planets that have been abandoned due to war or plague and the like. I’ve decided to make our deal a bit more lucrative.”_

_“I never - ” King Vegeta interrupted, but_ _Freiza_ _held up a hand._

_“You will kill the inhabitants of the planets I choose, and then crack them open so I can sell them. I’m so tired of waiting around for another good war, so, you are going to bring the war for me.”_ _Freiza_ _clasped his hands together, combining with his sadistic smile to make the features of a murderous child. “It’s positively brilliant, I know.”_

_There was a shaky edge in King Vegeta’s voice, his fists clenched in anger._

_“I will not. Not a single Saiyan will take part in such barbarism.”_

_Freiza_ _chuckled, a hoarse, rasping noise, “I wouldn’t be so sure. I’m told that there are whispers. They crave battle, they want to fight again. Under you,”_ _Freiza_ _made an annoyed face, “But you can’t expect much from monkeys.”_

_“I will not repeat myself again, Lord_ _Freiza_ _,” King Vegeta raised his voice, “I will not renegotiate terms with you. If that is not to your liking, perhaps it’s time we end our…partnership.”_

_Strolling past him,_ _Freiza_ _walked over to the observation window, currently dark and shielded for their meeting. “Perhaps you should take a look outside. Scan the planet. You know, before making up your mind.” The satisfaction in his tone was sickly sweet._

_The window shimmered and hummed as the shielding frequency dispersed. Leaning on the frame, the King gripped his hands around the metal until it groaned beneath his fingers. Hundreds of_ _Freiza_ _’s warships sat just outside of_ _Vegetasei_ _’s force fields. Far enough away to be off the radar, just close enough to hit the shields._

_Warships with capabilities far beyond decimating a planet’s population, or cracking it in half. The arsenal equipping just one of them would obliterate_ _Vegetasei_ _. These were not mining ships, but a war fleet for destroying other vessels. Shields could only protect the planet for so long; it would be a waiting game, and King Vegeta would not allow his people to starve to death in a siege war. He knew it, and_ _Freiza_ _knew it._

_“Come now, don’t seem so dismal. You should be delighted you know. I gave you the courtesy of an advance warning.”_

_“You bind my hands and then goad me to defend myself like a dog!” King Vegeta snarled, whirling around to face Freiza. “What do you want Freiza?”_

_“Everything,” Freiza said simply, sounding utterly disinterested, “of course, there is a third option. If you can challenge me, right here and now and win, I’ll release you from your contract and you’ll never hear from my forces again.”_

_The yellow eyes narrowed in a cruel smile. Pride. The Achilles heel of the Saiyan race. It filled the king and his eyes snapped with fury. It was an encounter he would never win, with an opponent who had backed him into a corner. They both knew it would only end one way._

_King Vegeta clenched his fist and roared, throwing himself at_ _Freiza_ _with everything he possessed in desperation. The yell had yet to finish leaving his throat when it was cut short._ _Freiza_ _shot his tail out like a whip, not moving anything else. A sickening crack emanated from King Vegeta’s chest as the tip crushed him before slamming him into the floor._

_Blood spurted from the king’s face, splattering the floor as he choked and coughed. He tried to lift his head and Freiza clawed him with a disfigured foot. Purple light filled King Vegeta’s hand as he made a feeble attempt at a ki attack, and the foot wrapped around his throat tightened like a vice._

_The blast missed its mark and Freiza swished his tail to bat it into the throne. Debris flew through the room as the wood exploded into splinters. They stared at each other; pure contempt mirrored in their gazes._

_“Kill me, you fucking coward,” The king rasped._

_Blood foamed at his lips and teeth. The foot suddenly released its hold and Freiza turned away from him to look at the decimated throne. King Vegeta gasped, his fingers twitching, trying to form an energy attack._

_From her hiding place, Tomoe, First-Daughter of the favored consort queen, shivered. Freiza’s eyes met her, and she struggled to look away from the chilling gaze._

_“No,” Freiza said, finally turning away from the throne and walking towards the door, “you’re far more useful to me as a slave than dead.”_

* * *

“Tomoe slipped out of a back passage and came to find Nappa,” Vegeta grimaced, sweat dripping from his forehead as he stared at the stark white floor.

Betraying the secret of the true nature of Saiyan-Freiza alliance had sickened him. He couldn’t look at Bulma as he forced himself to continue.

“I was about five I guess, by your Earth years. Tomoe and I were never close; she was much older than me. Nappa was lecturing me on something stupid I’d done, and Tomoe burst into my room. She didn’t even look at me, just started ranting about Freiza attacking the king…attacking our father.

“Nappa was unshakeable, but I think in that moment he might have known fear for the first time. He shoved Tomoe so hard she almost fell, and we both ran after him. I don’t know how, but Nappa ordered the guards at the door to leave. He said he gave them some excuse about the king being furious over an argument with Freiza and told them to close off the hall.

Vegeta’s voice was numb and hollow.

“My father’s temper was…not a stranger in the palace. I think they just wanted to avoid inciting his ire towards them. Nappa got him into a healing pod and didn’t leave his side for three days while he was in it. That’s when I learned about the zenkai. He swore Tomoe and me to secrecy, and made it clear that if we talked, not even our royal blood would protect us from him.

“I don’t care if your father thinks I’m a war criminal. Whatever you tell him, whatever excuse you give for helping me return to space, you can never tell him any of this,” he caught her eye and continued; his words were ragged, “Swear to me. You can _never_ speak of this.”

She nodded, not bothering to hide the tears pouring from her eyes. He tore his gaze away, unable to handle such raw emotion.

_The world be damned, everyone else’s opinion can go to hell. Somehow, I only care what she thinks about me. I have to leave. Soon._

* * *

“Chi! It’s me, Kakarot, I came to visit you!” Kakarot called as he soared over Fa Pan’s gates on the Kinto Un.

Two figured danced around the paved square below him, and he squinted as he flew down. It was Yamcha, he realized, sparring with Chi. Neither of them acknowledged his arrival as he hopped off the Kinto Un. Her pink armor had been replaced with a white blouse and pants that tapered to fit her calves. A deep red sash fluttered about her waist and matching red slippers danced across the stone as she spun and attacked.

Each of them had a long wooden pole as a weapon, and Kakarot thought he recognized some of the forms they were using as they fought. Chi spun in Snowflake Falls, her pole flashing out to crack Yamcha on the ankle. He darted neatly out of the way into Spider on the Water, but the pole still caught the edge of his pants.

Yamcha stumbled momentarily but recovered by hurling himself backward to flip. Chi was still advancing on him, twirling her pole so fast it blurred. Kakarot watched, fascinated as Yamcha gave ground bit by bit, parrying her every blow.

 _She sure is strong! Geez, no wonder those sandworms didn’t stand a chance._ Kakarot thought, remembering his own attempt to fight Yamcha.

Chi yelled and leaped high, twisting the pole behind her as she turned midair and struck Yamcha’s wrist on the side. The crack was loud enough to make Kakarot wince and the pole slipped from Yamcha’s fingers. It was a bluff, Kakarot realized, as Yamcha turned with Chi, stepping neatly behind her just as she landed. His hands slipped over her pole and yanked her back against him, the wood pressed to her throat.

“I knew,” Chi panted as Yamcha relaxed his grip and released her, “I couldn’t defeat you on even terms because you’re so much more advanced; I had to disarm you.”

Yamcha grinned, giving her pole back with a flourish and picking up his own, “Well, yeah of course. But you bet on me not thinking of that. Of course, I’m going to lead you into a false sense of security. You have to remember if your opponent is way stronger than you, be wary of what seems like an opening. It’s often a trap.”

Chi finally noticed Kakarot as he approached. “Kakarot! I did not expect to see you, have you come to visit my father?” She pushed her hair out of her face, leaving it to cling to her temples.

“Actually, I came to visit you like ya asked me to. I didn’t know you were so good at trainin’ and stuff!” he exclaimed.

Chi turned bright red and twisted the polearm in her hands, “Aaaah of course! Yes! To visit me!”

Yamcha raised an eyebrow at her, “You all right, Chi? You look a little red, maybe you ought to head inside the house,” he said, sounding concerned, “Kakarot, why don’t you go help Chi? I’m going to, uh, go…take these polearms and put them away!”

Kakarot frowned, peering at Chi, “You’re gonna melt in this sun, huh? Grandpa told me girls are fragile, but you don’t look like that. You’re strong!” his stomach grumbled and he smiled at her, “But I guess I wouldn’t mind goin’ back to the house. Maybe…you got some more of those buns you made before?” he asked hopefully.

Her face lit up. Neither of them paid attention to Yamcha slipping away with the polearms, smirking.

“Of course! I can make us lunch, but why don’t we eat outside? It’s so nice today, and I know just the perfect spot we can go to.”

She smiled brightly at him, and Kakarot felt a buzzing in his stomach.

_Weird, I was feelin’ okay just a second ago. I must just be hungry._

Chi chatted about the palace as they walked to the house, explaining that soon they’d be moving back into it. Kakarot tried to keep up with her chatter but struggled to get a word in edgewise and resorted to nodding and pretending to understand. She kept smiling and staring at him, asking him to reach this thing or that for her.

Kakarot didn’t mind being helpful, but he seemed to remember her being a lot more capable last time he was there. He looked around but didn’t see the stool she used before. Maybe it had broken, he thought and felt a bit bad for wondering in the first place.

His stomach growled at him again when the tea steam filled the room and she laughed before offered him one of the sweet buns.

Kakarot immediately stuffed it into his mouth, grinning with full cheeks, “Gosh, nothing Master Roshi makes is this good,” he mumbled through the bun.

“Come on, we should go ahead and start walking. You seem very hungry!” she chirped.

In a flash, the large container Chi had been packing shrank down into a Hoi Poi capsule. She placed it carefully in a tiny pouch at her belt and waved Kakarot toward the door.

“I know, why don’t we just take my Kinto Un? I’m really hungry, Chi,” Kakarot laughed lightly, scratching at his head.

“You want me to ride on that tiny cloud of yours with you?” Chi squeaked.

“Sure! I ride it all the time, why not? You can hold on to me if you’re scared of fallin’ off!”

Kakarot cupped his hands to his mouth as they stepped outside, “Kinto Un! Come on back!” he called.

The fluffy golden cloud blew across the street, skidding to a stop dramatically in front of them and bouncing. Kakarot patted it affectionately and hopped up, reaching a hand down to Chi.

“C’mon, it’s all right! I’ll help ya up, just hop.”

Chi gave a little hop, grabbing Kakarot’s hand and scrambling up the cloud.

“Hey, why don’t ya just sit in front of me, and it’ll be easy to just point me which way to go?”

Without waiting for a response, Kakarot scooped her up and plopped her back down in front of him, grinning.

“Let’s go, Kinto Un!”

Chi squealed as the puffy cloud took off, shooting up into the sky, “It’s that way! The big tree by the wall, just over the HIIIIIILL!” she cried as the Kinto Un jerked hard to the left to follow her pointing.

Kakarot peered down at the ground as they began to descend. A low wall opened near a cluster of trees that sat on either side of it, framing rough steppingstones in a steep path. At the top of the slope sat a small platform with a tiny building at once end. Chi grabbed at his legs and leaned back against him.

His stomach fluttered again and he felt his face grow hot as he stiffened. He was grateful when Kinto Un finally came to a slow stop, and quickly disentangled himself from Chi, leaving her to hop down on her own.

“Sooo, what’d ya wanna show me? Why’d we come here?”

She looped her arm through his and his stomach fluttered again. Kakarot wasn’t sure he would be _able_ to eat by the time they sat down.

“Thanks to you and your friends helping bring Master Roshi, my father and I were able to lay my mother’s body to rest. I’ve been coming here every day to spend time with her and talk with her,” she explained as they took the stone path up the hill.

“I don’t think I get it. What do ya mean talking to her?” Kakarot frowned.

Chi gave him a quizzical look. “Come sit with me and I’ll explain while I open up the food.”

Delicious smells filled the air the moment the capsule opened, intensifying as Chi unwrapped little dishes and baskets still steaming hot. Kakarot forgot all about the strange feeling in his stomach which had immediately been replaced with hunger pangs, trying his best to patiently wait as Chi loaded a bowl and handed it to him.

It had taken time to adjust to Earth’s strange eating utensils, and in the beginning, Kakarot had dropped many mouthfuls of food on the floor of Roshi’s house trying to learn. He shoveled the steaming portion into his face in a blink now though, barely remembering to swallow before thanking Chi again.

“Who’s that one for?” he asked, as he noticed her filling a third dish.

Chi smiled softly, reaching to place the bowl on an empty side of the mat she had spread.

“For my mother. I’m not sure what Earth customs you’ve learned about, and I wanted to share this with you.”

Kakarot chewed more slowly, hoping her explanation wouldn’t be as rushed and tumbled as her chatter back in the house.

“Just because she’s gone, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten her. We build shrines for our loved ones who depart from life, to show our remembrance. That is why I bring her gifts, as well. Sometimes, when I’m sitting here talking to her, it’s like I can feel her presence still with me, watching over me.

“I remember her smile. How her hair would brush my face when she kissed me goodnight. And…her voice when she read to me.”

Her eyes had misted over, and Chi sniffled, “I just wish I had more to remember her by.”

Kakarot set his bowl down and leaned back on his hands, thoughtful.

_I could tell her what I can do. Maybe I can help her. Vegeta helped me remember my parents, so I guess it’s only fair?_

Ignoring the pounding of his heart in his chest, Kakarot leaned forward and grabbed Chi’s hands in his own. She gasped softly, her cheeks reddening again.

“I might be able to help you, if ya want. It’s kinda hard to explain, my Grandpa said it’s about having empathy.”

She stared at him, and he took a deep breath.

“Just, kinda shut your eyes, and try thinkin’ back to when you were little ‘n remember her. I’ll try to help ya remember.”

Chi nodded, settling where she sat and immediately closed her eyes, “Okay, Kakarot. I trust you.”

* * *

Chi leapt from Icarus before he had fully landed, hitting the sand so hard it sent a silty cloud up around her feet.

“Mister Turtle Hermit!” she cried, rushing to the house, “Master Roshi! Come quickly, please, Kakarot is in trouble!”

Before she made it all the way up the steps, the door flew open and Roshi grabbed her by the shoulders.

“What’s happened? Where is he?” His voice was calm, but his eyes gave his panic away.

He looked past her to Icarus and rushed toward the dragon, not waiting for Chi to answer. Kakarot lay slumped on the Kinto Un, tied to Icarus’ saddle. Chi deftly scrambled up the saddle and untied him.

“He said he could help me remember my mother…” Chi bit her lip as Roshi gently lifted Kakarot from Kinto Un, “I saw her, I remembered somehow. Kakarot took my hand and…it was like I could feel him helping me remember, a torrent of forgotten thoughts, emotions, memories…it was wonderful,” her brows knit sadly, “But he cried out suddenly holding his head and it all stopped; he simply crumpled to the ground.”

She followed Roshi inside, still talking, “Will he – will he be all right? I was worried I hurt him because…” she took a deep breath as Roshi laid Kakarot on a bed on the floor, “because he said he lost his mother and father.”

Roshi stared up at her, his gaze piercing, “Do you always talk this much?”

Chi flushed, “I’m sorry, I – what can I do? How may I help?”

“There’s nothing you can do, the crazy boy has gone and exhausted himself again. He needs to sleep, and that’s all. You can go home now,” he waved at her dismissively and turned his attention back to Kakarot.

Chi seemed frozen for a moment, then mumbled an awkward goodbye. Roshi didn’t answer her. His concern was focused entirely on the young boy in front of him.

The aura of ki emanating from him was intense, volatile, and churning. No doubt, Roshi thought, with enough training Kakarot would grow far beyond the strength of any human he’d ever known. Easily beyond himself and Gohan.

_Such immense power for one so young. These Saiyans are an incredible anomaly. I’ve been treating him like a normal student, and clearly, I can’t keep doing that._

No matter how exhausted the boy was at the end of the day, he always woke up ready for more the next day. Injuries, bruises, soreness, all seemed to heal overnight.

The downside was, the comfortable fortune Roshi had amassed for himself through martial arts winnings was taking a concerning hit with Kakarot’s arrival. The boy ate like he was ten grown men. He wondered what other latent abilities Kakarot might have waiting to reveal themselves.

Kakarot stirred in his sleep, blinking in confusion.

“What…what happened?”

He struggled to sit up but Roshi made him lie back down, smiling gently.

“Ahh, you’re awake, that’s good. Had me worried for a bit there. Chi brought you here, her and Icarus. You gave us quite the fright with those psychic talents of yours.”

Kakarot reddened, “I didn’t know that would happen, I just kinda wanted to help her. She looked so sad.”

“These…abilities of yours. You can’t just keep going around using them whenever you please. You lost consciousness today, but you could accidentally kill yourself. Your mind is still too young to handle it, and it’s too dangerous to keep exploring on your own.

“You possess a tremendous psychic gift, but you must learn to guard it safely. If you don’t, someone could exploit it, use it to sabotage, or even control you. Remember, Kakarot, a door once opened can be stepped through from either side.

“This is not a talent I possess,” Roshi continued, “I have heard rumors that such a talent could exist, but no one I have ever known has seen it. Perhaps one day you will find someone to help you hone the ability, but for now, you must swear to me that you will not attempt to use it.”

“I don’t understand though, can’t I just try with you here where it’s safe?”

“There is no way to ensure safety. You could burn your ability out, or irreparably damage yourself psychically. Just today, you were helping a friend, and you could have died. No, you will put this aside until you can get proper training,” his voice became even more serious.

“And that starts by staying here today and resting. I will not teach a student who disregards safety and endangers themselves. It would be a waste of effort.”

Kakarot was clearly unhappy but nodded, “Okay, I promise then.”

* * *

Kakarot’s mind swam as he stared at the dark ceiling in Kame House that night. He lay sprawled on his back, feeling stifled and hot. The fan above him turned lazily, barely stirring the air. Chi’s words echoed in his memory.

The idea of trying to talk to anyone who was dead still confused him. Death was final, the end of a Saiyans life. You hoped that your end would be honorable, violent and proud, but that was that. Chi spoke to her mother as if she had been right there next to them.

Remembering his uncertainty at watching her, he flopped over on his side. Being on Earth had made him feel…uncomfortable. Earthlings did and said many strange things, and it left him feeling mixed up inside. Especially around Chi. No girl he’d ever known was like her, so gentle and sweet.

Being inside her head, searching with her for her memories had felt different than when he had searched Vegeta’s mind. It gave him the same feeling he got when he caught Chi staring at him without saying anything. He pushed it from his thoughts, drifting back to remembering his family.

His father, throwing him higher and higher. Biting Radditz’s arm as he rolled across the ground, wrestling with him. His mother, scolding him for crying and encouraging him to try again after he failed to fly again. He tried to imagine what he would say to them if they were there. If he had a chance to just tell them one thing, anything.

Tears burned his eyes and he rubbed at them angrily. Unable to control the flood of pain, he curled into a ball, burying his face into the pillow and silently crying; one phrase repeated over and over in his mind.

“I miss you,” he whispered.


	6. The Practitioner's Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sumai discovers a different way to use magic, and finds something else within herself in the process.

In the several weeks since Fa Pan bloomed back into life, considerable effort had been made to clean and straighten up the interior of the palace. Under Chi’s watchful and considerable instruction, walls and floors had been scrubbed, tapestries washed, and furniture dusted. The wind that before scorched everything in its path now wound through the trees lining the exterior stairway, bringing the scent of flowers through every room.

Sumai lounged on a low, cushioned rosewood sofa, twisting gold and pale blue silken cord in her hands to form complex knotted shapes. Gyumao had insisted she and Yamcha stay in a small guest wing attached to the main residence wing. Two bedrooms framed either side of a large reception room, which opened to a balconied garden. She had found herself more nights than not though, padding softly across the floor to Yamcha’s bed, poking him awake so she could curl up next to him.

She never had needed much sleep; when she had first left Baba’s residence, she often got caught up watching the sunset and stars and forgot to sleep altogether. It seemed too, the slightest noise would instantly awaken her, almost as if she hadn’t even been asleep in the first place. Instead, she enjoyed the silence and comfort of being close to Yamcha, listening to his heartbeat and relishing in the warm closeness.

The afternoon sun had filtered through the screened walls, peeking around a wardrobe in a beam that was all too sharp. She wiggled a bit, leaning further away to block the offending ray. Small animals and insects were embroidered on the screened walls, and the sinking light cast desaturated shadows on the floor where the embroidery stopped it from penetrating the sheer screen fabric. A shape in them caught Sumai’s eye and she sat up uncomfortably.

_A dark colored butterfly…means a visitor is coming._

Her eyes darted to a jar of scented salts, and she contemplated reaching for it.

_I put the omens behind me when I left._

She shook the feeling off, going determinedly back to her knotwork. Chi had taught her a few simple patterns, and Sumai had spent many hours attempting to replicate the intricate designs, with little success so far. She scowled at the piece in her lap and pulled a little harder than necessary on a twist. The silky cord pinched and bunched up, twisting on itself and pulling out the knots next to it. Sumai threw it to the floor in frustration, glaring at the offending failure.

The folds of thread and cord formed the rough shape of a butterfly where they landed, and Sumai inhaled sharply as she glanced furtively around the room. A shimmering blur wavered in the round doorway to the garden, and Baba stepped out of the silvery halo. Her eyes immediately took in the room with a scrutinizing scan.

“Impressive. It looks even better in person. You seem to have…adapted well to your new living arrangements.” Even though she barely came up to Sumai’s chin, Baba had all the presence of a woman twice her height.

Sumai collected herself, schooling her expression, “If you’re here to chastise me for staying in the same rooms as Yamcha you’re wasting your time.” She crossed her arms defiantly as Baba glided across the floor towards her.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t adhered to such baseless mortal rules my entire life, I don’t intend to start now. I came here to see what you might have made of this opportunity, but it seems the answer is nothing,” she frowned and looked Sumai up and down, planting a hand on her hip critically.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sumai sniffed, turning her head and looking away, “I’ve been enjoying my life here in Fa Pan. I have Yamcha, and I’ve even made friends with Chi. It’s more than I had back home.”

Baba knocked her staff on the floor, “Nonsense. You’re better than that, destined for greater things than wasting away filling your head with…domestic matters,” she looked at the mangled knotwork on the floor.

Taking a seat on the elaborately carved couch across from Sumai, Baba arranged her skirts neatly, “Enough of that. Let me get a proper look at you. No hiding from your mother, now,” she chided.

Baba fixed her eyes in a steady gaze and Sumai reluctantly relaxed her mental guard. When she was a child, she struggled with terrifying nightmares. A monster chased her, hungry to devour her whole. Baba blamed the nightmares on her watching too many kaiju movies.

As a result, she had begun to routinely sift through Sumai’s thoughts, removing the negative experiences. The familiar feeling swallowed Sumai, leaving her feeling a bit like soup being sieved. The older she got, the more she had started to feel like perhaps the nightmares would be preferable to this.

“Mmm, my you’ve wasted a lot of time,” Baba pressed her lips into a line, “Too much time in the sun, and not enough in that library. I didn’t let you leave so you could spend your days covered in flour.”

Baba was tugging at a memory of the day Chi taught her to make dumplings, when she had accidentally dropped a bowl of flour. Despite the clumsy mistake, Chi had been patient, kind to her. For the first time she felt as if she were making a friend. Sumai winced, and before she could speak Baba gestured in the air with a finger a flicking motion. Sumai’s eyes glazed over for a second and she shook herself, glaring at Baba.

“They’re my memories, you know I hate when you rummage around in my head like that, just…taking my thoughts.”

Baba snorted, “Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear; how could I forget all the tears and the pleading?” she made another distasteful face, “But it must be done. And why must it be done?”

Sumai bit her lip, looking irritated, “For the greater good,” she said, her tone sarcastic.

Seeming satisfied, Baba nodded, going back to peering intently into her mind, “And I can’t have you being too weak to serve that greater good. I see you’ve grown careless of the omens. You swept out this room before using a new broom to sweep good charms in?” her dark eyes darted around the room suspiciously, “Girl, would you risk everything?”

“I’m tired of omens, and the greater good! You never tell me why, you never tell me anything!” Sumai snapped hotly, “I’m tired of never getting to do what I want to do, with you always looking over my shoulder, scaring me with omens.”

Baba narrowed her eyes. She’d found what she was looking for.

“That’s it. Cowardice. You’re _afraid_ of the greater good, afraid of what you will have to do or sacrifice for it. Let us be done with that.”

With the precision and care of a gardener ripping out a fist of weeds by their roots, she reached into Sumai’s mind. For an instant, Sumai feared the invasion, feared not knowing what she was about to lose. In an instant, the terror vanished.

“What did you do to me this time?” Sumai, cried.

Baba’s voice was cold, “No longer can you run from your destiny, too afraid to face it. Your life is not merely about you, and there is a bigger picture you cannot possibly imagine. You are one being in a collective, and you have a responsibility to that collective.”

“What did you take from me, Mother?” Sumai shot, her voice quavering.

“Your cowardice,” Baba said, sounding completely disinterested, “it is useless to you.”

Sumai clenched her fists at her side, shaking with anger, “But it was me! That was a part of me and you just - “

Baba cut her off, “A useless part that you, no doubt, acquired in the time you’ve wasted with these mortals. Listen here, girl. I have seen the end of time, and the endless darkness that exists after it. I cannot cheat death forever, but the Rower cannot exact a toll on those who have no life to take,” she sat back brusquely, “You do not live, not truly. You _are_. And what you will be is an oracle; one to rival even me, to take my place when I cannot remain in this world any longer.”

“I…what? What do you mean I’m not alive?” Sumai’s mouth hung open after her words ended.

“You are not limited by life and death. I created you, I suppose metaphorically gave birth to you, but at a gruesome cost to myself. Things are different with you, about you. You were never intended to be just another human, never intended to just be my daughter.”

“You can’t just tell me something like that and then not explain! I need to know, Mother! What aren’t you telling me?”

“Enough. I will not speak more on this. I told you that you were different to convince you that there is more for you than…this,” she gestured around the room as she stood.

“I might not be afraid anymore, but you can’t keep everything from me forever.”

Nodding to Sumai, Baba tapped her staff on the ground again and several towering stacks of books appeared on the floor between them.

“Everything you need to know before I return is in here. There are events at play even now that will shape the future and telling you more than you need to know could irreversibly endanger that future. I won’t tolerate that. But I won’t tolerate you being unprepared either. Learn. Grow. Prove to me that your creation was not my greatest mistake.”

She headed towards the garden doorway and the gossamer portal appeared again. “So, read those books I left you. You may consider exploring magic no longer forbidden. And Sumai? I’ll come back, and when I do, I don’t want to be disappointed.”

Baba disappeared and the portal winked out behind her.

* * *

Vegeta slowed his flight and peered at the horizon beyond Metro West, sniffing the air intently. Rain was coming. Thick, dark clouds had been gathering over the city all day, and he’d immediately taken advantage of the cool air to train outdoors. It was quiet outside still, peaceful; when storms approached, people hurried inside and stayed there. Bulma had assured him that yes, humans could also smell water over great distances, but that only served to confuse him more.

Smelling water often meant the difference between life and death for a Saiyan, especially one who was off planet. He thought it was strange, the way Earthings reacted to rain and water so casually – often wastefully. Bathing, drinking, swimming – these were prized luxuries on Vegetasei, and he had to admit he had grown used to their availability on Earth. No more trying to ignore the dust in his hair another week, no sleeping in armor wiped miserably after being spattered with the insides of his enemies, no labored lengthy silences while he kept his mouth shut to conserve moisture.

Thunder pealed overhead as he descended to the ground. Today was for flight training, self-control, discipline. Which, according to Bulma, he was sorely lacking in.

_So arrogant and bossy._

He scowled and glanced back at the compound. In the end, he caved to her criticisms, not least of all because he _did_ keep frying the circuits in the simudeck every time he tried to power up. It was only fair that he make some attempt to control his ki if he expected Bulma to maintain the facilities.

Vegeta scoffed as he focused again to fly. As if he had any idea what the hell he was doing. Ki control had one rule among Saiyans – use it or die failing. The latter was not an option for him. He locked his jaw as he launched into an upwards spin, trying to increase speed. Bulma was right about one thing, no one would be able to defeat him if they were too slow to touch him in the first place.

A fat drop of water smacked him between the eyebrows, and he lost his focus, immediately plummeting towards the ground. His reflexes saved him from a more painful impact as he slammed into the ground and rolled several meters.

“The death moon take you!” he roared angrily at the sky, still dizzy.

The storm paid no heed to his curse, answering only with a torrential downpour that immediately soaked his clothes and plastered his hair to his head and neck. At least the rain would remove most of the dirt.

_Fucking great._

Down came his carefully fixed strands, arranged to showcase his forehead and add to his height. The hair in front hung limply in his face like unruly bangs, the way it had when he was a child. Nappa had always scolded him, always brushed it off of his face.

 _“You have your father’s face, boy, be proud of it,”_ he would say.

The remark usually came at the end of a battle, when he would struggle to keep his chin high as they crawled back to their pods. More often than not, the hand Nappa used would be smeared with the remains of those who had fallen to his fists. The hair stayed in place when Nappa moved it. Angrily, Vegeta pushed it back in vain, irritated over the short locks. It was a damn shame it would never grow any longer.

He flew higher again, spiraling slower this time. The rain beat down on his back, taunting his concentration as he broke off to the left. The tallest building at Capsule Corp rose high enough to give a sweeping view of the city below, all the way down to the port. Deftly, he touched down on the roof for an instant, his boots barely grazing the rough gravel before he launched himself in the opposite direction. He needed control, precision. Lightning split the sky overhead and he felt his tail and neck tingle from the electricity in the air. A sharp burnt smell distracted him, sending him back to the ground. Vegeta grit his teeth and desperately held on to his ki, righting his course and heading for another roof.

 _Damn. I can’t think straight._ He thought bitterly.

Since Bulma had revealed she knew of his past, he had felt jumpy and off balance. Weeks had gone by, and he found himself thinking of her horrified face at the most inopportune moments. The fact that she had been so disgusted by him pierced him in a way that terrified him. He shoved it down, with everything else that threatened the calm of his concentration. No matter how many times he did though, it always resurfaced, draining him like a parasite. He still couldn’t decide which was worse, Bulma knowing he had been a glorified slave or her thinking him a murderous monster.

The wind changed directions as it picked up speed, stinging his eyes with rain and whipping his hair around. Reluctantly, he halted his practice and flew toward the balcony of his room. He had weathered his share of monsoons since arriving on Earth, and while rain could be tolerated, he had no desire to be thrown about like a bored child who needed to be entertained.

His gloves slipped on the door handle and he glared at it in annoyance, jerking a glove free from his hand with his teeth. The wind nearly ripped the door from him as he stepped inside. A puddle was already forming on the floor as he raked his hand through his hair and began removing his other glove.

“Vegeta, is that you?” Bulma’s voice called from the hallway.

Vegeta heard her soft, impatient footsteps rapidly approaching and winced. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in a room having to converse with her.

“There you are!” she exclaimed as she marched through the doorway, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you and - ” she stopped, noticing the growing puddle, “Kami you’re soaked! Were you out there in that storm?” she asked incredulously, looking him up and down.

“Mhmph,” he pulled the other glove from his mouth and tossed them both into a pile of clothes in the corner before crouching to pull off his boots.

“Ugh, you’re getting water everywhere you know,” she scolded, striding past him to the bathroom door and stepping daintily over the wet spots, “At least use a towel,” her voice faded a bit and he heard a closet door open.

“Here,” she said, throwing a towel at him, “clean yourself _and_ your mess up.”

Vegeta caught the towel overhead, “Why do you care so much, anyway?” he asked flatly, meticulously drying his hair as an excuse to avoid her eyes.

“One, if you get sick then I’ll have to take care of you,” Bulma scowled, planting a hand on her hip and ticking a finger deliberately, “two, those floors will be ruined if you leave that muddy puddle there. And three, because my dad wants to talk to you, and I told him I’d find you.”

Vegeta froze. He shouldn’t have been surprised that a man as intelligent as Dr. Briefs clearly was would have tried to learn everything that he could about Saiyans after encountering one. More than a few Galactic Patrolmen had attempted to apprehend Freiza’s soldiers, but they rarely succeeded, leaving a list of crimes attributed to Saiyans that Vegeta was sure probably rivaled the oral Saiyan history of heroes in length. Bulma was still waiting for him to respond, he realized, scrubbing his head furiously before pulling the towel off his face and dropping it to the floor.

“Did he say what he wanted?” he asked, trying to sound unconcerned as he began to remove his boots.

Bulma shrugged, sitting down on the bed and stretching her legs out in front of her, “No, just asked me to send you to him whenever I saw you next.”

“Mhm.” Vegeta watched her out of the corner of his vision as he gave his boots a wipe with the now-soaked towel.

“Why are you nervous?” she crossed her legs.

Vegeta tried not to stare at the supple curve of her calves.

“I’m not nervous,” he tossed his head as he walked past her.

“Oh, right. Sure. Let me guess, you’re fluffing your tail on purpose to dry it off?” she gave him a saucy smile as she tilted her head.

Vegeta felt his stomach crawl into his throat. He felt cornered, and it must have shown. The smirk melted from Bulma’s face.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to…” she bit her lip, brushing an imaginary spot off the blanket before standing, “Look, you don’t have to worry. My dad isn’t someone you should be afraid of. Whatever he wants to talk to you about, I’m sure it’s nothing bad.”

“Nothing bad? You mean nothing as bad as what I’ve done,” he snapped at her, “I’m a _murderer_ , remember?”

Vegeta’s pulse raced in his throat and he felt his temple throb. Bulma looked like he had slapped her across the face. He wished he could take the words back immediately, even if it meant choking on them.

“You can’t know that he doesn’t care about it,” he said finally, “I’m not stupid. Why would he harbor a fugitive and not turn them in?” He tossed the towel around the back of his neck, gripping the ends to contain his emotions.

“Kami, Vegeta! You’re not a fugitive here, you’re a guest!” she raised her voice and rolled her eyes, looking exasperated, “Look, my dad knows as well as I do that sometimes, things don’t fit neatly into good and bad. What you did was…not your fault, okay?” her tone softened again.

With considerable effort, Vegeta forced himself to release the towel. Suspicion still rolled in the back of his mind.

“Saiyans are bound by blood to honor their obligations – an intention must be fulfilled on pain of death. I find it difficult to trust that a human would adhere so strongly to honor,” he managed to meet her eyes as he spoke, and the softness there disarmed him.

“Vegeta, I watched my dad recite an alien greeting I’ve never even heard him mention before. He’s never interested in talking to my guests,” she paused before turning away and looking out the window, “Now he’s staying longer during dinner, chatting with you about his travels in space. You don’t have anything to worry about, okay?”

Vegeta was quiet for a long moment, his hard gaze boring through the wall.

“I’ll speak with him.”

* * *

Dr. Briefs’ study sat on an upper level of the compound’s main building. Wide windows curved with the walls and looked out over the lush gardens. Rain still poured from the sky, lashing the glass as the wind howled. Vegeta stood at the end of the hall, staring at the door in front of him.

_Just go in, greet him like you always do. Bulma knows him well enough. Just see what he wants._

He tightened his tail around his waist and knocked, much louder than he intended to. He winced.

“Oh, show yourself in,” Dr. Briefs’ muffled voice came from in the room.

Vegeta reached for the handle, taking a deep breath as he stepped into the study. The room was brightly lit, the same sleek white and silver as the rest of the compound. Rows of pristine display cases filled the room, holding a multitude strange objects beneath transparent domes. Even more artifacts filled the cases on the walls, interspersed with books crammed on top of one another so there was barely any free space. Vegeta had never seen so many books in one place in his life.

“Bulma dear,” Dr. Briefs voice called again from the far end of the room, “is that you?”

Vegeta stepped around the largest row of display cases towards the voice. Dr. Briefs was seated at his desk, which was strewn with stacks of papers and handfuls of mechanical components. The cybernetic eye still unnerved Vegeta. It glowed brightly as it spun into focus while Dr. Briefs peered intently at his slate.

“Bulma said you wanted to speak with me,” Vegeta stopped in front of the desk.

“Ah, Vegeta, yes I did,” Dr. Briefs replied, still not looking up, “I won’t waste your time, or mine, with pleasantries. I’m aware that you’ve discussed your past with my daughter, and that in turn you know that I’m aware of that past myself.”

“I know you’re an important man. Are you obligated to tell the - ” he hesitated.

“The Galactic Patrol?” Dr. Briefs interjected, placing the slate back on the desk and looking him in the eye.

“Yes, them. Are you obligated to tell them that you’re aware I’m on Earth?” Vegeta felt the air leave his lungs in a rush.

A heartbeat passed and it felt like eternity. Dr. Briefs scoffed and tossed his head, “Nonsense. I have no intention of handing you off to a bureaucracy for exploitation. It wouldn’t do you or anyone else any good. If you stay here, at least I can learn more about Saiyans. Besides, I admire a man who forges his own destiny,” he wagged a finger at Vegeta.

“And what about when I don’t have any more to tell you?” Vegeta didn’t wait before asking.

Dr. Briefs gave him a piercing look, “Then I should think it would be time for you to go about forging that destiny of yours, eh?”

* * *

_Records of the Practitioner Symposium on the Ruminations of_ _Tkavric_ _Skva_ _Concerning Psychic Manipulation on Planet Vaska_

_It is well known that Planet Vaska is home to the largest proportion of telepathic psychics in the system. A unique metal exists in the core of the planet which has no scientific or practical applications but serves to amplify their psychic abilities by way of magnetic resonance. It acts like a magnifier, enabling them to manipulate larger amounts of raw energy from greater distances. They are highly secretive, but fragmented records indicate that at one point the Vaskans possessed telepathic skills strong enough to transcend a dimension. The fragment intimates that the Vaskans may have once served the Kai of Thought directly and used the ability to perform their duties._

_It is the collective opinion of this Practitioners’ Symposium that a delegate be sent to planet Vaska. The risk is high, but the following account of-_

Sumai snapped the book shut and grimaced. Her neck ached from struggling to read this nonsense for hours. Many of the books were in languages she’d never even seen before, and she wasn’t even halfway through the stack Baba had left. Baba’s library was extensive, and Sumai had spent ample time learning the basics of magic. Nothing she had read before compared to these volumes.

She hated to admit it, but Baba always turned out to be right, no matter how ridiculous her demands seemed. Her ability to see the future drew visitors to Earth from nearly every advanced planet in the galaxy. If she insisted that being an oracle was the only way to save a far-off future, it would be unwise to ignore her.

The first time she tried to use magic for anything, she decided to fly out her window. Instead of soaring across the sky, she became hard as stone and crashed right through the roof of Baba’s reception hall. Theoretically, Sumai should have been skilled at magic, and Baba constantly bemoaned the risk she posed if she did not learn to control it. But it was useless, and Sumai never was able to; in the end Baba forbade her to continue trying.

She could feel the energy of every living thing when she reached out still, contemplating drawing and shaping it to her whim. The thought of endangering anyone else gave her pause, though. Yamcha had tried unsuccessfully to teach her ki manipulation, but no matter how hard she tried she could not manifest her own spirit. Now she knew why.

_You do not live, you are._

Drawing her knees beneath her chin, Sumai wrapped her arms around herself and twisted her mouth in thought. The last three days had been a whirlwind of emotion. She reached out to Yamcha’s mind the instant Baba left, tumbling over herself to explain the minute he walked in the door. He took it in stride, telling her it didn’t change how he felt about her. She almost wished he had reacted negatively; his calm demeanor made her begin to wonder if it wasn’t that big of a deal. After all, it didn’t change the fact that she existed, or had feelings.

 _Are you okay?_ Yamcha’s voice entered her head.

 _I’m fine._ She sent a comforting pulse. _It’s a lot to take in._

_Yeah, but you’ve been holed up for three days. You should at least come eat. When was the last time you had fresh air?_

She smiled, hearing the tiredness in his voice. He was always looking after her before himself.

 _Did you forget already what Baba said?_ She teased gently. _I don’t need to worry about that anymore. You know, what with not being alive and all._

She felt his embarrassment.

_Sorry, I guess I’m just tired. Gyumao said the Duizhu will probably want me to brief the garrison personnel when they get here, so I’ve been out scouting all day._

_Don’t be. Just take care of yourself, okay? I’ll be fine here._

Sumai’s released the bond and her eyes drifted over the books. A slim green volume caught her eye. It didn’t look nearly as old as the rest for one, and the spine simply said ‘DEX’. Carefully pulling it out without disrupting the other books, she flipped it open to a random page. Symbols covered everything but the margins in a neat grid on one side, and arrows pointed to texts on the other. Her face reddened. It was a codex, she realized, sitting here the entire time right under her nose while she cramped her brain trying to decipher the foreign books.

The way Baba showed up still stung - cutting her memories and talking about just how alive she was. For a mother she was cold and full of secrets, constantly scolding her for doing things she’d never fully explained not to do in the first place. It wasn’t the first time she had dropped devastating news on her without explanation. Somehow Sumai felt it wouldn’t be the last. Sighing, she picked a book at random and began comparing it with the dex.

It was slow at first, and more than once she considered giving up as her eyes swam darting between the dex and books. The first few made her realize she had grossly overestimated just how much she knew about magic. She stopped short as she scanned a page.

_While the Practitioner’s own energy may easily be used for magic, it rarely surpasses the amount needed to do anything beyond creating a small light or lighting a fire. Drawing from the cosmic forces is indeed dangerous, for it is difficult to control, but it will always yield better results._

“Kami’s own blood!” Sumai swore, angrily throwing the book down and pacing furiously.

No matter how many times she had failed as a child to properly control cosmic magic, Baba pushed her anyway. She lectured, demonstrated, scolded; internal magic, she had sniffed, was for charlatans, _magicians._ Baba had spat the term out in disgust, mocking traveling magic users who were too weak to harness cosmic forces and so instead used their internal energy to swindle and dazzle people with showy sleight of hand. She had always presented it as an embarrassment to the cosmic force itself, never once bothering to reveal that it was easier to control.

_I don’t care how insulting to Practitioners you think it is, you should have given me the choice. You told me to learn, and now I’m going to do just that. My way._

* * *

A chorus of squawking roused Roshi from his slumber earlier than usual. That damned palm was attracting gulls for nesting again. Grumbling to himself, he tossed the blanket off his legs and padded downstairs in his slippers. He squinted at the front window, fumbling with his robe in the grey-blue morning haze. The sash was still open and the screeching was louder downstairs, riding into the house on the salty breeze.

“Eh, look at that, more freeloaders. If you’re going to move in, you could at least be considerate you know,” he waved his hand at the window as he turned away, yawning.

The birds paid him no mind, flitting between the palm leaves and darting to the ground to collect stray fibers for their nest. Roshi pushed the guest room door open, shaking his head at Kakarot sprawled out on the floor, half off his futon. Nudging him with a slippered foot, Roshi tried to rouse him.

“Hey, _kodomo,_ up and at it.”

Kakarot raised an arm over his face, squinting in the dusk as he sat up and yawned. Roshi didn’t wait for him to answer before heading back to the kitchen. He knew Kakarot was used to their morning routine by now.

_Beat the sun to bed, be the first to rise, start the day with exercise._

Of course, he would be exercising as well, tuning into his workout programs while Kakarot would be out diving for the morning’s fish. It was only fair, he reasoned, since Kakarot did most of the eating anyway. Roshi gave the rice cooker a doleful stare and sighed as he began to fill it.

The Saiyan boy was still quite a mystery to him. Soft cries came from the boy’s room some nights, but when Roshi had checked on him once, he seemed to be in the throes of a nightmare. He had stood watch until the cries stopped, but Kakarot never woke until morning. Since he made him promise not to attempt further use of whatever empathic abilities he had, the nightmares had lessened.

Roshi pried the last crate of potatoes open, noting grimly that it was already time for another trip to the market.

_Wherever those Saiyans are from, it must be very far away. None of the extraplanetary races here on Earth are remotely that humanoid._

Still unanswered questions swirled in his head as he scrubbed the potatoes before filling the oven trays with them.

The level of ki capacity Kakarot alone possessed was impressive, particularly since the boy didn’t seem to have had training of any kind in his past. Tomatoes and cucumbers fell to the knife in his deft hands as he contemplated.

_I can’t continue to go forward not knowing the truth about them – I wonder how much of the rumors surrounding them are true. A tenacious warrior race of planetary pirates…But there’s a good chance that they themselves, these children, don’t fully understand their own past. I’ll have to see her, then, it seems; I’ve no choice. Whatever they are, I need to be prepared to deal with their potential power. They can’t be here by mistake._

The aroma of tea permeated the room as he filled the basket of a large thermos with leaves and hot water. The issue remained on his mind even through his workout, and he found himself enjoying his well-toned instructor’s chipper attitude and fine legs less than usual. Roshi was ready to leave already, and felt relieved when Kakarot finally returned with a string of fish. He gave Roshi a friendly wave as the pile of fish thudded to the sand next to the remains of yesterday’s breakfast fire.

“Ahhh, I smell those potatoes!” Kakarot called out happily as Roshi staggered out the front door under the weight of a massive steaming platter.

“Make sure you eat it all,” Roshi instructed sternly as he lowered the platter to the tiny table outside. “There will be no new training today, since we worked so hard yesterday. I want you to practice that new defensive form. I’m going into town because those were the last of the potatoes, so you’ll be on your own most of the day.”

Kakarot nodded, already spitting the fish. Roshi shook his head. It was true, it would take entirely too long and too much fuel to try to cook so many fish indoors, but it still made him stare when Kakarot seared a row of whole fish with ki and eat them nearly in their entirety. They were hardly cooked.

 _He should be too tired from yesterday to make too many mistakes training alone._ Roshi thought as he headed back inside to dress and collect a plane capsule.

The trip to Baba’s place was a short one, but he had made it only halfway there before her sharp voice popped into his head. He swore at the intrusion, nearly losing his grip on the steering for a moment.

“By the Celestials, Baba do you ever ask before barging in?”

“Why are you on your way to bother me?” she asked coldly, ignoring him, “You won’t find me there anyway,” she continued, not waiting for him to finish, “I’m in Fa Pan right now.”

“You sound distracted.”

“Of course, I am. I’m busy attending to my daughter and you’re on your way to wheedle some favor out of me no doubt. Spit it out, what is it? And you might as well turn around.”

Roshi grumbled, turning the plane and changing course for Fa Pan, “I need to contact someone in Otherworld.” He didn’t waste time mincing words with Baba. It was pointless and would only irritate her.

Baba scoffed.

“You owe me,” he firmly insisted, forgetting the telepathy and speaking aloud, “You ruined the Bansho fan, and you owe me! Unless you’re losing your touch and becoming too absorbed in your _motherly duties._ ”

“Oh, curse you and curse that wretched fan,” Baba snapped, “Well, out with it, what poor soul do you need to torment from beyond the grave with your jabbering?”

“My pupil, Son Gohan. It’s about these boys who came to Earth, Saiyans, they said they’re called.” The barb he expected in return didn’t come, and a long moment passed before Baba spoke again.

“Fine, but hurry up getting here. I’m very busy, and I can’t be wasting my time on old fools.”

Roshi felt her pull away, out of his head and shook himself off.

“You’d think I’d get used to it after hundreds of years but oh, no,” he muttered, rubbing at the gooseflesh on his arms.

* * *

Roshi sat on a small cushion next to a very irritated Baba, who had continually made impatient noises during the summoning. Gohan’s voice echoed through the dark room, resonating from the glowing crystal ball in front of them.

“The older one had an attitude like you wouldn’t believe,” Gohan chuckled, “ordering me about when he could barely sit up straight. He seemed to think that I was watching them land on Earth, and sent to kill them. I don’t know what kind of place they come from, but he was jumpy as a cat and suspicious as its prey.

“Saiyans, is what Goku told me they’re called. That’s what I was calling him, since he couldn’t remember who he was, or where he was from. I suppose it explains those tails of theirs. The older one, Vegeta, you said his name was? He left Goku with me, saying he was going off to scout the planet.”

Roshi frowned and leaned closer to the ball, “He never came back?”

“Well, I suppose he did at some point. He sure sounded like he meant to return, but not until after I’d died,” Gohan chuckled again, “You noticed their tails, but you don’t know the half of it.”

“How did you die, Gohan?” Roshi interrupted, “Kakarot told me about your death, but when I traveled to you house I didn’t find any trace of you.”

“It happened during the full moon,” Gohan sighed, “Apparently, the Saiyans have the ability not only to harness enormous amounts of ki, but also to use a powerful kind of polymorphism to transform into giant apes.”

Roshi snorted, “Stop feeding me that hogwash, you don’t want to get in trouble in the afterlife for lying.”

“I am not lying,” Gohan sounded offended, “the rumors about them are true. I was instructing him on the stars, how to navigate with them. He became transfixed with the moon, and after a moment stopped responding. Kakarot quickly grew to tower over the house, and chased me into the trees nearby, blindly rampaging.”

Roshi leaned back against his seat, thumping hard, “This is very serious indeed. To think that such powerful magic wielders exist beyond Earth.”

A silence stretched between them before Roshi spoke slowly, reluctantly.

“Perhaps I should do…something. If the mere sight of the moon can cause that much destruction - ” he suggested, but Baba cut him off.

“Absolutely not,” She interjected, “I need them. Both of them. You’ll instruct them and no more. Take whatever measures necessary to prevent wanton destruction, but that is all. And that is not up for debate.”

The ball hummed and glowed in the silence as Roshi stared at her in surprise.

“I trust you had a Foretelling about this and aren’t just looking out for your own interests?” Roshi eyed her critically.

“This audience is finished. Goodbye, Son Gohan,” Baba said abruptly, waving her hand over the ball, “Not that it should be your concern but yes, I did. Now, if you’ve had quite enough of scheming to upset the celestial order, I need to get back to Sumai.”

Roshi hesitated and didn’t rise with her, “Ah, there may have been one other small thing,” he began.

Her eyes narrowed and she pointed at him accusingly “There’s always “one more thing” with you!”

Roshi scoffed and finally rose, only to theatrically prostrate himself on the floor in front of her.

“I just need a loan! This one boy has eaten nearly all my money! I’ll owe you big time for it, I swear! Come on, do it for your brother, eh? You told me to instruct the boy, but I can’t do that if I can’t feed him!”

Baba pressed a palm to her forehead, “Sometimes, I cannot believe we came from the same woman,” she scoffed, gingerly stepping away from him, “You can drop the act, Roshi. And how would you pay me back any way?” she waved her hand at him as he stood, grinning sheepishly. “Once again I must look after you.”

“Ten million _zenni._ That’s all I need,” he said eagerly.

Baba’s face blanched, “Is that a joke?”

“You should see the way he eats! All the fruit at once, entire crates of potatoes in days, several kilos of rice with every meal…why I saw him drag an entire swordfish out of the water and eat it in one sitting. And then he asked for more rice!”

Her face was contemplative, “I won’t give you that much, you can have three million,” she held up her hand as he began to protest, “but I’ll also give you something else.” She snapped her fingers and summoned a small watering can onto the table next to her crystal ball.

Roshi stared at her, “And this helps my financial situation because…?”

With an exasperated huff, Baba stepped back to the table, “It’s enchanted; anything watered by it will grow to maturity overnight, but dies by the next afternoon. I use it for flowers but,” she sniffed, “I suppose you could use it for a garden for that boy’s ridiculous appetite,” she peered at him for a moment, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me see in that head of yours to tell if you’re pulling one over on me?”

Roshi snatched the watering can. “No, thank you I’d rather not.”

* * *

When he arrived back at Kame Island, Roshi took his time encapsulating the plane, watching Kakarot intently as he practiced his forms. His concentration never broke, even when the plane landed.

 _What remarkable focus. And such speed._ Roshi grimaced. _Ah, but such inaccuracy. How is he making so many mistakes already? He should have been too tired to be this earnest in his drills. Well, time to teach the boy the fault in being lazy with his technique._

Roshi strode over to him, tracking his movements that were so fast they blurred. Kakarot paused and opened his mouth, clearly about to greet him when Roshi struck with the attack Kakarot’s practice was meant to counter.

Kakarot dodged and spun, but suddenly lost his balance and went sprawling as Roshi tripped his feet out from under him. Taken by surprise, Kakarot shook the sand from his hair and stood, taking Roshi’s offered hand.

“The fool works hard and calls it discipline,” Roshi began in a lecturing tone, placing his hands behind his back to stroll around Kakarot, “but hard work isn’t enough. Hard work isn’t even necessary! Do not simply _do_ your work but _master_ your work. Take your time and learn correctly; practice correctly.”

He pointed to Kakarot’s rear foot before demonstrating with his own, “You turn your supporting foot outward, when it should be facing your opponent. When you do not train deliberately, it will embed your errors. It will cost you when you need the technique most.”

Kakarot nodded determinedly, already stretching again, “Don’t ya worry, I’ll get it right!”

“Enough of that for today, though. It’s time we switch up your training again. Clearly, I haven’t been pushing you hard enough.” He looked at Kakarot, his expression a little peeved. “Tired children learn better,” he paused, “Tired men, too.”

Kakarot froze stretching and gave him a quizzical look.

“We’re going to be moving the house today, onto the land. And you’re going to be planting a garden to start replacing all the food you keep inhaling,” Roshi muttered the last bit, shaking his head, “Why don’t you come inside and sit down though, we should talk about something.”

Ever his unflappable self, Kakarot simply nodded and bounded eagerly inside. Roshi took a few moments for deep breaths before pocketing the plane capsule and following him inside.

* * *

“I think it’s time you told me about how you and Vegeta came to Earth.”

Roshi’s words echoed in Kakarot’s head and he felt his mouth go dry. He very suddenly wished he was anywhere but here. He felt his tail tighten around his hips, curling up his waist. Certainly, he trusted Roshi, but the reminder of what he had lost still made his chest feel tight.

As if sensing Kakarot’s immediate unease, Roshi softened his voice.

“I can’t imagine it was good, whatever it was. So, there’s no need to go into detail. I just want to understand your past to better understand you.” Pouring from the still steaming thermos, Roshi motioned for him to take a teacup.

Kakarot nearly snatched it off the table, grateful to have something to do with his hands. The steam rolled across his fingertips as he blew gently.

“The planet we’re from, Vegetasei – it got attacked and destroyed,” his voice shook as he continued, “The King, Vegeta’s father, sent us away, all the children, really. I…we don’t even know if anybody else made it.”

 _What if we’re the only ones left?_ He pushed the thought away and took a sip of tea, steadying his hands.

“I don’t know what happened, but when me ‘n Vegeta came to Earth something happened to our pods ‘n we crashed instead of just landing. Vegeta saved me from the wreck and then Grandpa Gohan found us but…” he trailed off.

When he finally looked back at Roshi he felt his eyes burn with tears, “I didn’t mean to look at the moon,” his voice cracked and he squeezed the cup until it shattered.

Kakarot was vaguely aware of the tea running down his hands, stinging his palms where the cup shards had sliced his skin.

“I’m not supposed to look at it, until I’m older ‘n can control myself when I transform. Grandpa was tellin’ me about the shapes in the stars. The moon was just so bright, and so big, but I didn’t remember anything so I didn’t look away and then,” anger and loss filled him again; the guilt of Gohan’s death choked him and he gave Roshi a pleading look as the words tumbled out.

“I only remember a little bit, but I know I destroyed a lot of the forest nearby and…that was the last time I saw Grandpa.”

The tears were flowing profusely now, and Kakarot wanted nothing more than to lash out. He felt a rage burning in him as his throat closed up. It wasn’t fair how much he had lost, how alone he was.

“That fire that burns within you,” Roshi said steadily, “is not your destiny. Death and loss are a part of life, but only a part.”

Kakarot blinked furiously through the red haze. “They were all I had,” he choked out.

“And if you keep living in the past, obsessing over it, they will be all you ever have,” Roshi leaned forward again, his gaze intense, “Vengeance is not a destiny. To cling to the past and the pain it causes you means you will never know anything else in life except that pain. And then what do you have to hope for? In the end, even your dreams will die with your past.”

Roshi leaned further and reached to rest a hand on Kakarot’s shoulder, “You can have a life here, Kakarot. You never have to be truly alone.”

* * *

Baba frowned as she hurried through the palace halls. She was having trouble focusing in on Sumai’s energetic signature; the damned girl had run off somewhere the second her back was turned. It was that mortal boy she had attached herself to. The thought irritated Baba all over again. She pushed his presence away in her mind, trying instead to concentrate on Sumai. Finally, an image of the gardens came to mind and Baba turned sharply to head in that direction.

Sumai was laughing and smiling with Yamcha, who was holding a long slender weapon. The laughter abruptly stopped as Baba entered the room and Sumai sat up, her posture cautious and reserved. Baba didn’t bother greeting her or Yamcha. Too much precious time had already been wasted in the last few weeks, and Yamcha’s dagger-staring was wearing what little patience she had thin.

“Well don’t stand there gawking like a peasant, it’s time to see what you’ve learned in my absence.”

“Not even so much as a ‘nice to see you, Yamcha’ I see,” Yamcha cut in.

“You may leave,” she waved at him condescendingly, “Sumai and I have important work to do, and you would only be a hindrance to her concentration. It’s bad enough that she chose to…link with you,” she felt her mouth curling into a sneer.

Yamcha snorted, not breaking from polishing the blade of his polearm, “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t own me, Seeress. You might be afraid of Sumai’s power, but I’m not.”

“You say that,” Baba sniffed, “because you have no idea what she’s capable of, what she will become. You are a mere mortal, nothing more than a distraction she will have long forgotten after your bones turn to dust.”

“Threaten all you want; I’m not ending our relationship.”

His dark hair shone as he shrugged carelessly. The arrogance dug at Baba and she felt anger rise within her.

“Then I will,” she snapped.

Without warning, she swung her gaze to Sumai and focused on her mind, fully intending to rip out every shred of emotion or memory of the boy. So many of them, in every corner of Sumai’s mind. So many feelings.

_What an insolent boy. Such a nasty mouth on one so stupid, so naive, so –_

Her eyes widened and she stumbled back as Sumai pushed back against her attempt, nearly hard enough to sever the psychic link between them.

_If she were not my own creation…she could have cut me off completely._

Baba winced at the echoes reverberating in her mind from the resistance and she glared hard at Sumai.

“What have you done, girl? I see you’ve been busy in my absence. You think you can defy me?” her voice raised in pitch and she gripped her staff so hard the wood creaked beneath her fingers.

Sumai stood in a flash, her eyes sparkling with anger, “What’s wrong, Mother?” she taunted, “Haven’t you been spying on me while you were gone? After all, you did tell me you didn’t want to be disappointed.”

“Do not test me!” her voice rose higher in anger, “Whatever it is you’re doing, that is _not_ how magic is intended to be used. You are playing with destiny and I will _not_ let you throw the world to the wind to satisfy your foolish romantic fantasies!”

“You took my cowardice in an attempt to control me more. But now you can’t frighten or intimidate me. I _will_ be an oracle, yes, because I trust your gift of Foresight. If you foresee it, so it shall be. But I will do this _my_ way.”

Baba stared at her, incredulous. Yamcha still had not moved, seeming completely unconcerned with the scene unfolding in front of him. She tried to feel out his thoughts, seeking desperately any shred of fear to exploit. The shadows there made her blood run cold and he met her eyes as if he knew she couldn’t find what she looking for. There was no fear.

_This boy – no, this man – he knows his true fears. And I don’t inspire it._

“You must listen to me, I a, trying to help you.” she tried to reason with Sumai.

“Why should either of us believe you?” Yamcha retorted.

“What reason do I have to lie? I have seen the needle through which Fate must thread. I am more powerful than you could possibly imagine, the things I am capable of would surpass even your wildest imaginations. I am a god compared to you, so tell me, what purpose would a lie serve to a pitiful mortal like you?

* * *

True to his word, Kung had come back within the month, with a small entourage of clerical staff who immediately took up residence in some of the empty rooms near the library. Yamcha had felt obligated to greet him together with Gyumao, certain that he would be summoned any way once the topic of conversation turned to Shen and the Tokai. He stood off to the side, leaning against the wall and observing.

Yamcha was grumpy, dark circles under his eyes from poor sleep. Baba had kept Sumai from him night and day, often so far from the palace he could barely sense her. When he did sense her, he felt her exhaustion, her determination, but most of all her strength. It seemed that in accomplishing the impossible, Sumai had managed to garner a shred of respect from the Seeress. Yamcha scowled and tried to push the issue from his mind.

Gyumao stood at the foot of the dais in the great hall, speaking animatedly with Kung over a large sheaf of papers. They had gone back and forth, discussing troop installation, renovations to the prison and guard barracks, and estimates on how quickly people would follow.

The large doors at the end of the hall creaked open, interrupting their enthusiastic stream of conversation. Baba glided in with her staff in hand, her voluminous black robes from before replaced with a set of rich plum that seemed to pulse and shimmer with color. Sumai walked behind her, her chin held high and confident.

 _So much for putting it out of my mind._ Yamcha thought.

He was still suspicious of Baba, declining to take his eyes off her as she moved gracefully to the dais with Sumai. Without waiting for an introduction or invitation to join the conversation, Baba stopped in front of Gyumao.

“So, I see the Central Commission has finally decided to take you up on your offer to resettle Fa Pan. Good. Well, every new provincial region must have an advisor,” Baba gestured beside her to Sumai, finally meeting Kung’s eyes.

“May I present my daughter and oracle apprentice, Sumai. I know you are discussing staff, now that Fa Pan is becoming an Imperial Province. She will be the Commission’s new advisor for Fa Pan; I have already begun to educate her,” Baba held her head high, her eyes daring them to disagree with her.

Gyumao wore an unfamiliar look on his face, amused, perhaps. “I don’t suppose this would be the reason behind your gift to Fa Pan?” he asked Baba.

His eyes sparkled with humor, and Baba gave the slightest smile. Kung turned to slowly stare at Gyumao, astonished.

“I see you know the Great Oracle Baba quite well. Fortune seems to favor you, brother,” he turned formally to Baba and bowed - a courtesy, Yamcha noticed, neither she nor Sumai had extended.

“We would be honored to have a student of the Great Oracle Baba. Thank you, Seeress, and may I convey in advance the thanks of the Central Capitol Commission,” his keen eyes located Yamcha, “Excuse me, Seeress. I have other matters to attend to.”

Yamcha shifted nervously to his other foot and tried to meet Kung’s eyes as he approached. The leather and plates of his armor creaked softly as he approached holding a slim, flat box under his arm.

“Greetings, Duizhu. Was the information I was able to give you helpful?”

Kung glanced back at Baba, who had Gyumao by the arm and was talking animatedly while gesturing about.

“It was, and I would speak to you and Gyumao about it. A moment, first, though. I promised a reward for your information, and I’ve come to deliver,” he handed the box to Yamcha.

The Central Province’s bureaucratic seal was chiseled into the slick surface with laser like precision. Yamcha took it apprehensively, opening it when Kung nodded at him encouragingly. A neat sheaf of papers lay inside. Yamcha’s eyes bugged at the lettering atop the first page.

**_Request for Consideration: Application for Provincial Sanctioned Bounty Hunting_ **

Kung gave him an intense look. “You may not have dealt with the last undesirable visitors to Fa Pan. Where a city grows, so does trouble. It would be a considerable reassurance to have such a capable man defending Fa Pan from that sort of trouble.”

Gyumao was nodding respectfully to Baba behind them, trying to subtly disentangle himself from her.

“The choice is up to you, of course,” Kung continued, “and you would be accepted easily now that you have provided the Commission with such valuable information,” he looked up as Gyumao finally made his way over to them.

“Ah, good, you spoke to Yamcha,” Gyumao began, “I would like to proceed, but perhaps we should go somewhere…private. This way, to my study.”

Yamcha followed, uncertain of what to do with the glossy box in his hands. It was like holding a bowl of glowing coals, he thought. He wanted nothing more than to sprint back to his rooms, set it down and just _think_ for at least an hour. Sumai’s presence hung like a mist at the edge of his mind, and he tried to focus on it and put his anxiety to rest. He didn’t want his nervousness to affect her.


	7. The Tokai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hand in the dark makes a foreboding appearance. Tien copes with his past, and considers his future.

The meeting room of the Tokai was inky black. A single, small candle sitting on the floor the middle of the square room put out a weak patch of light. There were no windows, and the members sat far from each other and the candle, their faces obscured in the shadows.

Tao Pai tilted his head from his seat in the dark, a malicious scowl spreading across his face. How dare they push him aside like this? He debated challenging them but calmed the rage inside him. The meeting room of the Tokai was meant for anonymity, and he took advantage of it to hide his hatred.

_Their time will come. Patience is the predator’s advantage._

The eldest of the Tokai, Ged’un, continued, “With Shen now gone, we have decided that your…membership is no longer required. I know that you have been a part of our work as long as he has, but things have changed now. We too must change.”

Even in the near pitch-dark room, the unease of the other Tokai members was palpable.

“We would have our anonymity, and political events of late have made that difficult,” The voice of Adhikari, nearly as old as Ged’un spoke up.

“To say the least!” Another member cut in, and Tao recognized the voice of Aikawa, who was nearly his own age, “Centuries of effort and work, fallen to ruin. Why, the entire Continental Commission has us under scrutiny. It’s one investigation after another, endless harassment by police – they even arrested my son.”

“Patience, my son,” Ged’un raised his hand, “It is temporary.” He turned his gaze back to Tao, who felt his hatred surge so intently he was certain he would throttle the older man.

“I will not mince words with you. Shen became arrogant, careless. He has cost us countless years of work, disrupted our solitude and brought the Commission into awareness of our existence.”

“Shen was loyal,” Tao stated cooly, though there was an inferno of fury burning within him.

“Loyal only to himself!” Aikawa raised his voice, “He strode around with that pathetic pupil of his lapping at his heels like a dog, and where did it get him? Dead, at the hands of his own student. Tien could never fully accept the family, could never become one of us. He is a traitor.”

“Tien would never,” Tao hissed, feeling his fists clench. He would not stand much more of these insults.

“The boy was the only person besides yourself who knew where Shen was,” Adhikari insisted. “Who else could match him?”

“Certainly not Tao,” Aikawa muttered.

The accusation hung in the air and the tension in the room rose. Tao resumed his smooth, oily voice as he bowed deeply.

“It must be as you say, then, Father. You are the eldest, and while Tien may be a traitor, I can assure you I am not. I will accept your ruling but would request that you remain open to reconsidering. I will personally see to the boy. Perhaps then you will reconsider my membership.” His forehead to the floor, Tao’s eyes flashed, and he locked his jaw.

_They will pay for this, oh yes…but I must attend to Tien first._

* * *

_Two Months Earlier_

It was near sunset when Tien finally began to walk home, and Bulma was long gone. She had taken Kakarot and Vegeta with her. He had managed to save them, even if just barely. Shen was dead, true, but at what cost? The man had been so vile, so corrupted, that even in death he managed to destroy Yamcha. The guilt of everything weighed heavily on Tien’s shoulders as he trudged wearily out of the forest and into a small clearing.

Bulma must have been successful in summoning the dragon; he had seen the sky darken even where he had sat deep in the forest. The day – no, the month – had been a whirlwind of change for Tien. He stepped up the small back porch stairs, dreading facing Lun Chu.

He pushed the door open and knelt for a moment to remove his shoes. To his surprise, when he looked up, Lun Chu was coming out of the small kitchen with a bright smile on her face.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, “You missed Bulma – she left a little while ago. She said to tell you goodbye, from her and the boys.”

Tien stared at her. Not a trace of blonde remained in her hair, which shone in the dying sunlight - hues of rich blue.

_Is this it? Was killing Shen the sum of my debt?_

His heart pounded in his chest as she tilted her head at him, her face questioning.

“Tien? Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine, I was just…” he faltered, taking his time to sit at the table, “I was thinking it would be nice to have the house to ourselves again,” He began cautiously.

He watched her face intently, searching for any negative reaction. Lun Chu simply smiled again.

“Of course, although it will be much quieter now. Why don’t I make some tea? You seem tired.”

She didn’t wait for him to answer and was already heading back to the kitchen.

Tien nodded numbly, slowly crossing his legs while deep in thought. Could it really be over already? Lun Chu was humming absentmindedly to herself as he heard her move about the kitchen. The running water and her voice melded together, drifting to the back of his mind.

Something about her calm demeanor pushed him to relax, and he felt himself unclench his jaw in spite of himself. A light aroma wafted into the room as Lun Chu returned, steaming teapot in hand. She poured for them, chatting about the garden, what plans she had for dinner. Tien drank in her conversation like a dying man. He offered little conversation in return, but she didn’t seem to mind as she rambled about her flowers and seedlings.

Weeks passed in that manner; Tien trained during the day, occasionally stopping at Lun Chu’s insistence to consume whatever drink or new dish she’d come up with. She coaxed life out of the tiny patch of garden he had woefully neglected, and was always full of easy talk. Not once had she asked about his past, or even spoken of her own – it was as if they had always existed like this together.

The days grew shorter as late autumn approached, and Lun Chu seemed to tire with the shifting weather. He tried to remain closer to the house when training, feeling a bit bad for leaving her alone all day with only the birds to talk to. The nights were longer, and colder too, she complained. Tien awkwardly suggested that she might be warmer if they slept next to one another. To his surprise, she not only agreed but managed to dig up a needle and thread from one of the cupboards to stitch their blankets together. It was only practical, she’d said simply, while he stared and nodded mutely.

Tien was certain he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep that first night, with her warm body curled against him and her soft breath next to his ear. For hours on end, he lay stiff as a board, afraid to move and startle her or make her uncomfortable. He tried meditating, but every tiny noise she made in her sleep sent him straight back to square one. An owl outside called softly and Lun Chu mumbled to herself before throwing an arm over Tien’s chest and snuggling closer.

Her tiny hand wandered and without thinking, he placed it in his own. She sighed, seeming to settle as if unaware of his heart slamming against his ribs. Fearing his palms would sweat, he mustered every bit of control and forced his heart to slow, his mind to steady. It proved more arduous a task than his most difficult days training with Shen. The calm that followed as he relaxed resonated in him with a deep warmth he’d never known. Sleep crept over him slowly, winning the battle against his tense and exhausted muscles until finally, his eyes drifted closed.

The smell of smoke and the sound of screams ripped Tien from his peaceful slumber. He realized in horror that he was no longer in the house but standing in the middle of a city – a city on fire. He choked on the acrid smoke, shielding his mouth with his arm as he stumbled into an alleyway to escape the surrounded blaze. A piercing wail sent a shiver down his spine as he turned the corner to see a small child crying in the window of a building. Flames licked at the roof and smoke billowed from the broken windows as the fire spread, shattering the panes of glass in a deadly shower.

He tried to scream for the child to jump as he raced to the open window. His mouth refused to work and he strained against his body to lift his arms. The child wailed louder, not seeming to hear him before the orange and yellow flames engulfed him. The cries silenced and Tien retched violently, rage swelling within him. He ran, street to street, only to see every building crumble around him to the torrential inferno as if it were a beast alive, consuming the city. Laughter echoed around him and the flames seemed to take the shape of hands, reaching for him, chasing him.

Tien sat bolt upright, sweating profusely. In terror, he realized that Lun Chu no longer lay next to him. He scrambled to his feet but froze halfway as a tiny glowing red light caught his eye. He strained in the darkness and realized, as a sliver of moonlight peeked from behind clouds and beamed into the room that Lun Chu was sitting in the corner, smoking. Her blonde hair shone as she tipped her head back and exhaled.

“You!” he said, audibly shocked, “I thought you were gone, I thought…that it was over. Did you send me that nightmare?” he accused.

“I sent you a warning, mitsume-jin. You sit around doing nothing while a city is drowned in blood you shed,” she snapped, raising her voice and standing angrily.

“I thought killing Shen had ended things! What more do you want from me?” he retorted.

Lun Chu glared at him, crushing the pipe in her hand. She seemed to tower over him in the moonlight.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to take this mortal form? To resist the urge to drag you back to the Otherworld and extract my vengeance on you myself? It is _agony_ to exist in this state. You are ungrateful and selfish!” she raged at him, pacing across the room.

Tien sat in stunned silence, trying to work his mouth to form words. Lun Chu fixed him with an intense stare.

“You must leave. Go to the Eastern Capitol. Your final duty awaits you there.”

* * *

DECEMBER, 749

The stench of the city filled Tien’s nostrils, choking him with a putrid mixture of refuse piles, unwashed bodies, and despair. Rather than attract attention from the city entrance, he had scouted the lower districts and slipped in through a break in the wall. Few people filled the street, most of them keeping their heads down as they scurried between buildings. Everyone he saw seemed dirty, cloaked in tattered worn garments. Here and there, a guard patrolled, and Tien was glad for Shen’s tricks of illusion. A simple glamor hid his third eye and made his clean clothes escape notice. Some of the most useful illusions, though, he knew were simple distractions – he slumped his shoulders, let his feet shuffle, and kept his gaze disinterested.

Slouching against the wall beneath a ratty awning, Tien took in his surroundings. The building he stood by faced the main square at the top of a wide, sloping street cluttered with shop stalls and vendor carts. Many of them were empty, and the few shop keepers who were out seemed too worn down to cry their wares to the few bedraggled passersby. A fly buzzed nearby and Tien flicked it away. Coarse laughter rang across the square from the other side as a guard groped a passing young man. His compatriot leered at the frightened man, calling out insults as he picked up his pace and turned to a side street. Disgust filled Tien, followed by wracking guilt.

He had been to the Eastern Capital many times, but not since he had killed the governor. The city had been rough before, but never had he seen the citizens seem so dejected. The scent of fear and violence assaulted his senses. He strode away from the awning, continuing on the main street that wound to the higher levels of the city. The autumn sun peeked through the gaps in gleaming metal towers crammed along the streets, casting harsh shadows on the ground where catwalks crisscrossed high above him.

Scrabbling noises from an empty building caught his eye and were quickly overpowered by an oppressive smell of rot and decay. Horrified, Tien watched as a small child emerged from the building, covered in filth from head to toe, and clutching a makeshift basket. Long, matted hair fell around their shoulders, and so much dirt marred the skin that he couldn’t tell if the skinny legs belonged to a boy or a girl. The child scampered away with lightning speed as soon as Tien moved, disappearing into the shadows of an alley clogged with discarded furniture and trash.

Years of training on blending in was the only thing that prevented Tien from pursuing them. He had a job to do here, and chasing down one starving child was almost certainly not what Lun Chu – or the Celestials of Otherworld had in mind. He gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of the Celestials, wondering what they would do should he fail. Pretending to never have noticed the child, he strolled on, mimicking the slow, reluctant body language of the citizens he passed.

Another smaller square lay ahead of him, this one seeming to be the center of a little more life. Only a few shop stalls here were empty, but they were devoid of the rust and neglect the others had shown. The neon flickered and buzzed over storefronts as he walked along. One man passing stood out, his head up and his stride purposeful, almost confident. His clothes seemed ordinary enough and just as dirty as everyone else’s, but a bright red and black target tattooed on the back of his left hand caught Tien’s eye.

 _Strange, he doesn’t seem to be trying to blend in at all._ He thought to himself.

A man’s shout distracted him from his quarry and Tien turned just in time to see a child, caught red-handed trying to pilfer an apple. The shopkeeper lunged after him, swinging a heavy ledger, but the child was too nimble and quickly scaled a short wall before disappearing in the maze of high rooftops above them. The shopkeeper cursed, clearly more concerned about leaving his wares unattended than chasing an unsuccessful thief.

The crowd around the cart took no notice of the interaction as if it were a normal occurrence. Deciding he had found his target, Tien approached the man with a tired smile pasted on his face.

“Got credits?” the shopkeeper demanded gruffly, eyeing Tien’s hands suspiciously.

Making a show of keeping his hands in sight, Tien scratched at his head casually and pulled a slender silver stick from his pocket. The shopkeeper grunted at him, but still kept a wary eye on him. The stall offerings were meager; a selection of small apples was the only fresh option alongside dried grapes and strips of something pulpy Tien didn’t recognize.

“Just the apples, if it pleases,” Tien murmured in the lilting dialect of the capitol’s inhabitants, “Four,” he held up a hand to gesture the number.

The shopkeeper seemed surprised for a moment, before nodding and pointing to the payment station blinking in front of him.

“You pay before,” he said, his voice still stern.

Tien swiped the credit stick across the payment screen, waiting to reach for the apples until the light on the reader flashed green and the shopkeeper nodded at him. The irony did not escape Tien that he was paying for the apples with the very blood money killing this man’s governor brought. Shen had never cared much for money and was content to let Tien spend as he pleased. Until now, he’d never seen anything that pushed him to spend, and as a result, he had amassed quite a tidy sum. He thought, not for the first time, that it was a good thing credit sticks - unlike loose currency - gave no indication of their holder’s wealth.

With a lazy wave, Tien ambled back across the street in the direction he’d seen the young boy run in. He looked around for the confident man he’d seen only moments before, but not a trace of him remained. It was unusual for people with nothing going on to disappear like that, and he made a mental note to be on the lookout for anyone else who seemed to be doing a little more than just surviving. His sensitive ears picked up a sniffle and he drew his mind back to the thieving boy. In a gap between two shop backs, the boy sat with his knees curled to his chin, crying. A faded black cap covered his head and an oversized green shirt swallowed up his bare legs and dirty feet.

“Hey, kid,” Tien called, tossing an apple as he spoke.

The boy jerked as if to run and clumsily caught the apple between his legs and hands, immediately giving Tien a suspicious glare.

“Next time you try to lift something, make sure your mark is looking at something other than you,” he offered, not waiting for the boy to say anything.

As if pretending there were not tears streaking his dirty face, the boy raised his chin haughtily.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to steal, it was just a game, you know. I don’t need this,” he gave the apple a shake.

A loud growl came from the boy and Tien burst out laughing in spite of himself.

“You’ve got spirit, I see. Well, why don’t you keep the apple anyway? Maybe you’ll run into someone who needs it more than you. I’m Ten,” he continued, slipping easily into the half lie, “maybe I’ll see you around, huh kid?”

With a wave, he turned away, all too aware that pushing the interaction any further would backfire on him.

“My name is Chiaotzu, not kid,” the boy finally called out as Tien was nearly out of earshot.

Tien smiled, genuinely, for the first time since setting foot in the city. He didn’t look back or respond.

_One bite at a time, so they say, may one man devour a whale._

* * *

Tien stared at the poster in front of him. It had been plastered to the wall of a train station stop, the paper peeling at the edges and the margins scrawled with obscenities.

“AFTER THE WEST, WE TOOK CARE OF THE REST”

the poster declared, showing children in military uniforms standing arm-in-arm with soldiers. The Red Ribbon Army munitions factory in the capital was shown in the background with children lining up outside its doors. An older man, Tien guessed about sixty, came up to stand next to him.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, gesturing to the poster.

Tien shrugged noncommittally, “I haven’t been here long enough to say, I suppose,” he fought to keep the disgust from his voice.

The older man gave a knowing nod, turning to face him, “That, I already knew. I haven’t seen you around here before, and I know everyone on the work line,” he said.

“Work line?” Tien asked, glancing brief eye contact.

The man had a grizzled, hardened look to his face as if he had lived a full life, and not all of it pleasantly. His black hair was thin on top, flecked with gray, and his scalp looked as if it perpetually did battle with the sun. Like many men in the Eastern Capitol, he sported a neatly trimmed mustache that was heavily peppered with white and gray hair. Snowy eyebrows sat low above his wide eyes that drooped slightly at the corners. Although muscular, he was wiry, almost on the thin side. His clothes were worn and dirty, but he carried himself with an air which Tien had seen on many men with military service in their past.

“Sure thing, that. Just about the only reliable source of food around here comes from the construction going on in the governor’s quarter. I figured a tall, young man like yourself might have come here for the wages.”

Tien nodded as they began to walk together toward the bench to wait. “You have to be strong to make it out there in the countryside,” he gestured vaguely, “and when our fields dried up, I had to try something. So, I thought to try my luck in the city, but it seems things are just as hard here,” he said casually as he settled easily back onto the bench, “The name’s Ten, by the way.”

“Baek. Nice to see a young fresh face around here,” the older man answered.

“If the construction is the most reliable, isn’t it hard to get picked for work some days?” Tien asked, “Surely some are turned away.”

Baek laughed, “Oh, yes. There are other options, of course. There’s the fishing boats at the harbor, but it means a long walk to the docks, and since a boat only needs three or four hands the spots fill quickly. Some are tempted to steal fish for their families, but the punishment for theft is losing a hand, so.”

He shrugged and continued, “There’s the salt mines, but of course that’s mighty dangerous, and the munitions factory – well, you saw their target employee.”

Tien nodded somberly, settling back into his seat. More people had approached the station as they spoke, men and women trudging wearily to the few benches. The speakers overhead crackled as they announced the arrival of the next train to the governor’s district. Tien took the time to casually scan the crowd as they gathered closer to the platform, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. A dark, slender woman leaning against a support beam caught his eye.

Her black hair just reached her shoulders, and half of it was pulled back and tied off at the back of her head. A rough jacket was slung over her shoulders like a cape, and she wore rust-colored pants slashed with deep orange. Her t-shirt read EAST, and her snug gloves ended just below the wrist bone. With the irregularity of someone being watched, her eyes flitted between the exhausted people standing around.

 _Have to be careful._ Tien thought.

He relaxed his posture more, tipping his head back to rest against the wall of the station seat. Once, then twice, he saw her glance in his direction in a double-take.

_No doubt she recognizes a stranger, too._

The ground rumbled and shook as the train grew closer, its brakes hissing as it slowed to a stop. The sea of bystanders surged forward as the doors slid open, crowding into the cars until even standing room was full. Tien continued to observe the woman as she gripped the rail overhead, insisting that an older man take the seat in front of her.

The air vents in the car were taped shut, and she glared at them before shaking her head. She stripped her work gloves from her hand with her teeth before fanning herself with them to alleviate the stuffy interior of the train. Tien quickly averted his eyes as her hand, and the same red-black target symbol he’d seen a few days before revealed itself.

_So, it’s an identifier. Interesting – I wonder what for. Good thing labor means working with hands. Should be easy to keep an eye out._

Soon enough, the train slowed to a halt, the brakes screeching at the stop before the doors shuddered open. Tien exited the car with the other passengers and struggled to contain his surprise at the difference in the governor’s district from the rest of the city. The trees here still had most of their leaves, unlike the scrawny saplings in the lower districts that seemed to struggle for sunlight. Gleaming metal buildings framed a wide avenue that was cordoned off by a tall, wrought fence.

A white polymer so bright Tien found himself squinting made up most of the enormous residence protected by its high iron surround, curving out at seemingly impossible angles and juxtaposed by dark glass and hard, geometric edges.

In front of the fence, a well-dressed man in a stiff uniform and cap stood with a slate in his hands. He seemed to be speaking to no one, but a flashing blue light at his temple told Tien that he was augmented – a cyborg – using implanted communication devices. The train’s passengers crowded the sidewalk in front of the man, all seeming to try and hold themselves a little straighter, a little higher, attempting to be chosen.

“Attention please,” the official began, his voice surprisingly loud for a man so small, “we will require twenty-three workers for the outside grounds today, and eleven for the materials transport. Please stand in an orderly fashion and an inspector will give passes to those chosen. Once you have received your passes, please proceed through the gates to my left.”

He turned and gestured to a large gate breaking the fence. Sensor lights ran across the top of the frame and Tien immediately recognized them as weapons scanners. A short but imposing woman in a nearly identical uniform emerged from the gate then, carrying a bright silver case tucked under her arm. The crowd quieted as she walked through, giving each person a scrutinizing stare before either moving on or handing out a pass.

From the corner of his eye, Tien saw a man shifting nervously from foot to foot as the inspector drew nearer. She gave him a cursory glance and began to walk away. Tien saw the desperation and rage in his eyes and his stomach dropped. He had seen that expression before, in the faces of those who knew they faced their last moments – moments in which many behaved irrationally. Just as he predicted, the man lunged after the inspector, reaching wildly for a pass from the box she held. The movement didn’t even seem to surprise the woman, who merely made a half turn and reached her hand toward the man’s chest.

The flesh of her palm folded open in the same instant and blueish shock bolts lanced across the man’s body as her hand made contact. He seized, shaking violently as she bent over to follow his descent to the ground where he lay frothing at the mouth. Without hesitating, she stepped over his still writhing body and continued her inspection. The people standing around the man pretended not to notice as he reached out a spasming arm, fingers curling and uncurling in a desperate attempt to gain assistance.

Tien turned away grimly, reminding himself that acting out of the ordinary would only draw unnecessary attention he couldn’t afford.

_I have my work cut out for me if I’m ever going to figure out what’s going on here…and what I can do to fix it._

* * *

Gathering information was slow, tedious work. Tien made efforts to ingratiate himself with the other citizens on the work line, but conversation was scarce and camaraderie even scarcer. He’d spotted three more target tattoos, but their meaning still eluded him. Shadowing the citizens who sported them was difficult; they strode through the city as if they alone owned it, making it difficult for him to follow as he tried to appear nonchalant.

The woman he noticed his first day at the train station - Aija, she was called, spoke kindly to the shopkeepers, often discreetly slipping small parcels to them. When the guards hurled insults, she had equally nasty words for them in return. The day the inspector shocked the man for trying to steal a pass, Tien noticed she dropped a capsule in front of the man once the passes had been expended and the crowd dispersed.

He was nearly certain the tattoos indicated resistance, but without being able to find much less eavesdrop on a meeting between the members, he was still in the dark. He frequently saw them near the same area of one of the lower districts but had yet to pin down which building they were in. Not for the first time, he cursed how slow intelligence gathering was.

Aija appeared to live alone, though Tien had yet to confirm. It was impossible to see into many of the buildings, and the worn complex she lived in sported heavy metal shutters on most of the windows. The ones left unshuttered were plastered with newspaper, concealing their occupants from prying eyes.

Some days he skipped the work lines, instead prowling about the city trying to pick up gossip. It had taken a frustrating amount of time, but he was finally beginning to piece together what was really going on. It seemed the governor running the city had been glowingly endorsed and supported by the RRC, and whispers confirmed that they had padded his election campaign. A few of the guards even bragged about how their work was so easy now – police any dissidents of RRC and you got a nice increase in credits that week.

Where previously the governor had taken an active hand in attempting to rectify the widespread destruction and poverty that had followed in the aftermath of the RRA Rebellion, the current seemed more interested in lining his own pockets and filling his belly. Citizens who scavenged were regularly harassed by guards and even arrested, under the guise of violating the civil peace – as if seeking to quell the pains of hunger was a crime in and of itself.

A greeting from the fruit seller broke his brooding train of thought as he entered the bazaar square.

“Back again I see,” Djak crowed, “you look like hell.”

Tien shrugged, bantering back, “Could be worse, I could look like you.”

Djak chuckled hoarsely, ending with a wracking cough and grinning, “You say that, but this mug of mine keeps people away, just how I like it.”

“Not me, though?” Tien asked wryly.

“That’s because you’re too stupid to know better,” Djak grunted, “What have you come to bother me for today, _mal’chik_?”

“Your prize apples, of course,” Tien said, pulling out his credit stick. “Where else in the city would I get such fine produce?”

Djak scoffed, tossing Tien the apples, “Save your flattery for the guards.”

From behind the stall, Tien’s eye caught Chiaotzu silently creeping behind Djak. Tien made deliberate eye contact and Chiaotzu gave him an impish grin. Crouching low, he held his tunic out as he deftly swiped apples from beneath the counter. He reached for a fourth, and Tien cleared his throat loudly, eliciting a frown from Djak.

“Ahh, I think on second thought, I’ll have some of the grapes too,” Tien added hastily.

“You trying to be as poor as the rest of us, eh?” Djak jabbed but chuckled and scooped some into a case.

Chiaotzu stuck his tongue out at Tien but put back the fourth apple and scuttled back away from the stall. Tien turned his attention back to Djak.

“You say that, but you have the lowest prices and the least amount of rot, surely you could charge more,” he suggested.

Djak sighed, the mask slipping from his face for a moment, “In truth, I could. I barely turn a profit some days, and it seems in my old age I’m losing count of inventory. But I can’t raise prices in good conscience, everyone else is struggling as well.”

Tien’s heart wrenched in his chest, “Tell you what,” he kept his voice casual, “I only have to worry about feeding myself, so why don’t you charge me however much you used to before this…mess.”

Djak seemed taken aback, but slowly nodded, the hard mask returning to his face, “I think I can live with charging someone who can afford to pay,” He shrugged as if trying to hide his emotion, “It’s your money to waste.”

Tien swiped his credit stick, giving Djak a nod as he tossed the fruit into the bag at his waist, “I’ll see you around, old man.”

Just like that, the grin was back on Djak’s face, “Yeah, yeah, whatever baldy.”

A quick walk across the bazaar and Tien was headed to home – what had come to pass for it, anyway. A boarded-up warehouse sat a few blocks from the bazaar but could easily be accessed out of the watch of prying eyes from a rooftop next to it. Apparently only the most obvious entrances were worth boarding up, he thought wryly.

As he reached the top of the rusted maintenance ladder on the building next to his, Tien stopped in surprise. A flash of green across the street shifted, and he recognized Chiaotzu’s tattered black cap with its funny tuft at the top. Tien shook his head before stepping on to the roof and shrugging at Chiaotzu, who grinned and scampered across the catwalk to him.

“I knew you were holed up somewhere around here,” Chiaotzu announced proudly as he hopped down onto the rubble-strewn roof, “I figured if I watched long enough, I’d find ya.”

Tien gave him an appraising look, “You did, huh? You must be quite resourceful, then.”

“I came to tell ya I don’t need any charity,” Chiaotzu said, frowning. “I heard what ya said to Djak. You were payin’ more because I stole, weren’t you?” he accused.

There was a thoughtful silence before Tien answered.

“If you don’t like the idea of owing me anything, then maybe we could do a little business – you seem like you’ve lived around here a while, your whole life, I’m guessing?” he arched an eyebrow at Chiaotzu, who nodded suspiciously.

“Yeah, I been around here. What of it?”

 _The little imp._ Tien thought, suppressing a smile.

Aloud, he said, “Maybe you’d be willing to give me some information about some people and places. In return, I could pay you credits. But you have to promise to stop stealing from Djak, or anyone else,” his voice was a little sterner now, “If you heard what I said, then you no doubt heard Djak talking about how everyone is struggling.”

Chiaotzu kicked at the rooftop absently, then gave Tien a sly smile, “You seem like a nice enough guy, yeah I guess I could do that.”

“Oh, so quick to agree? You know, most informants haggle a bit on the price before making an agreement,” he let himself break a smile to reassure Chiaotzu’s crestfallen face, “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. You’re a crafty kid – most people wouldn’t think twice about owing a stranger.”

The childish arrogance returned, as did Chiaotzu’s grin, “What do ya wanna know?”

Tien weighed his words carefully, “I was curious about those hand tattoos I’ve seen some people wearing.”

Chiaotzu scrunched his face up at Tien, “Is that all? That’s not very interesting.”

Tien laughed, “Sometimes, being an informant – or a spy, isn’t all that glamorous.”

“Does that mean you’re a spy?”

Tien leaned back against a battered access door and crossed his arms, “You heard Djak, I’m just too nosy for my own good.”

“That’s what people say about me, too,” Chiaotzu nodded, his small face serious, “Anyway, miss Aija started those tattoos. She’s real nice, and she says we shouldn’t ignore each other needing help,” he dug through one of his pockets and pulled out a crude wood carving that resembled the tattoo pattern, “She gave me this, and said if I was ever in trouble I could show it to one of her friends and they’ll help me.”

“Her friends all have tattoos?” Tien asked.

“Yeah, and the man she helps too. Except he doesn’t leave – ” Chiaotzu gave Tien another worried look as if he’d said too much, “I’m not supposed to talk about him,” his eyebrows knit together, “The guards don’t like him.”

Tien nodded approvingly, “It’s good to be loyal. I wouldn’t ask you to betray their trust, that would be dishonorable,” he pulled out his credit stick and Chiaotzu’s eyes gleamed, “You’ve been very helpful. You think on it, and maybe if you find out anything else interesting, you come tell me. If you want to keep working together, that is.”

Chiaotzu crouched and dug through the bulging backpack he carried, producing a credit stick of his own. He grinned. “I always knew one day I’d be rich, so when I found this empty stick I kept it.”

Tien raised an eyebrow as he clicked his credit stick and knelt to tap it to Chiaotzu’s. “You found it, eh? Well, I look forward to seeing what interesting information you find. I’m sure you’ll find me,” he stood, slipping the stick back into his bag and heading across the catwalk.

Chiaotzu gave him a wave, already stuffing the credit stick back into the depths of his backpack. Tien shook his head as he made his way through the district, searching for a new place to hole himself up in. He knew better than to risk even one person having an idea of where he was staying. Shen’s training was a bitter reminder that he had to separate himself from any personal attachments, and not reveal anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary.

* * *

The moonless night cloaked Tien as he stalked the streets of a residential district. The new moon was the best night for reconnaissance; clouds could not be trusted to not part at the worst moment. He had memorized the guards’ patrol patterns over the weeks, mentally noted in which direction each of the tattoo-wearers went after exiting the main train station, and finally managed to narrow down the area of their meeting spot to that of a few blocks. He slipped deftly between buildings and along catwalks several levels up, watching the streets below.

Flat black clothing covered all but his eyes, and his hands were wrapped to the fingertip in the same dark fabric. Almost as if on cue, the guards turned off a street just before Aija came into view. She moved like a cat, staying in the shadows. Without his third eye and enhanced ki focus, it would have been nearly impossible to track her. She had been the most difficult of the tattoo wearers to follow, and he had lost her trail multiple times. She never took the same route, but no matter her path, they all converged on this one point.

This was where she eluded him. Cloaking himself in ki, Tien waited for her to pass beneath his hiding spot before dropping to the ground. His knees buckled with practiced ease, silencing his descent. Aija never stopped walking, though her steps quickened. For a moment, Tien worried that she had sensed his presence, but she never looked back or changed posture. He found himself wishing he had Yamcha with him, to slip between the yawning shadows as silent as the grave.

Aija made a series of rapid turns, twisting down alleyways and slipping between buildings with a confident ease that Tien strained to match. The ground was strewn with garbage, full of scurrying vermin and flecked with puddles of rank water – if it could be called that in its polluted state. He nearly lost her, had it not been for an almost imperceptible metallic creak that was almost drowned out in the hum of a huge generator above them. He froze, craning his neck to peer around a corner.

To his amazement, Aija opened a derelict call panel box on the side of a building, punching in a code. The heap of garbage littering the narrow alley folded in on itself and up, revealing a sewer grate below.

 _Kami’s own blood…it was right under my nose the whole time_. Tien cursed.

He had looked down this very street over half a dozen times and never seen anything. Now he knew why. The garbage was carefully secured to narrow metal panels. The noise from the generator masked the whirring engine and the creaking panels as they opened before closing after mere seconds. Tien kept his heartbeat steady, repeating the code mentally and waiting nearly a half-hour after Aija descended into the sewer grate before moving.

Wanting to avoid potentially alerting anyone inside to his presence, he doubled back a block to where there was another grate. He was relieved he had spent so much time scouting the city during previous contracts. A guard patrol would be by soon, he knew, and he preferred not to risk an encounter. Heavy footfalls and quiet talking were the lone sounds on the street as the patrol passed through the street, unaware of Tien crouching in the shadows. As soon as they had gone, he lifted the grate from its holding and slipped easily inside.

The muck inside was nearly half a meter deep, and he grit his teeth in revulsion, trying not to think about what made up the soupy filth. The sourness of seawater persisted even this far inland and he steeled his nerves as he pressed on in the direction of the concealed grate Aiji used. He knew he was getting close, and he scrutinized every inch of the walls, looking for any anomaly in the surface. He frowned, noting the disparity in the thickness of the algae on the walls. One section in particular was more sparsely covered.

Tentatively, he placed a palm to the slimy stone and closed both eyes, leaving only the third one open. His ki rippled forth from his hand in a soft wave, bouncing off of every surface behind the wall like a radar. This was it – multiple humanoid shapes and energy signatures lay behind the wall. He pulled back, scanning the sewer tunnels for a way to get closer. A turn ahead led a little closer, and he tried to sense behind it again. The wall was thinner here, and shapes were clearer this time. When he focused, he could hear voices. He recognized Aija’s almost immediately, followed by the man he had seen his first day in the city.

“…were looking out for us, they lied!” the man said.

“Red Ribbon is profiting off of our hardship – and it’s their fault that those children were orphaned in the first place. And now what do they do?” she raised her voice, “they prioritize expanding the governor’s lavish house, in the guise of bettering the cities image.”

The last words came out in a sneer, and rousing voices of agreement filled the room.

“What about where we live?” an unfamiliar voice spoke up, garnering more agreement.

“It is time that we stand up and say enough of this exploitation! Enough of the governor pandering to Red Ribbon, letting them pollute the water and work our children to death! We must unite under our own leadership!” Aija cried, and Tien felt her figure shift as she slammed a fist on the table next to her.

“Velis here has taken care of us when our own government failed,” she swung an arm to point to a man seated in the front of the room, “he has saved our children, risked his life to hide them, and sacrificed his own resources to keep the people from falling to the wayside! Together, he and I will help each and every one of your voices to be heard.

Tien frowned. As far as he could tell, these were ordinary citizens. Nothing about them hinted at any particular strategic or military experience. How did they hope to take down an administration that had the backing of a literal paramilitary group? As if she could hear his thoughts, Aija continued.

“We may not be experts, we may not know the smooth-talking ways of politicians, but we can demand to be heard. Together, they can not stop us, for we far outnumber them. Every one of you here has been scorned, but no longer. Tomorrow, you will begin recruiting. Velis has the charms for you to give out. We will persuade the entire capitol to follow our cause because it is their cause as well! We will march on the governor’s house and demand that he resign!”

Horrified, Tien pulled back from the wall, icy dread filling his stomach.

_These people will die before they ever reach the governor’s district. A handful of tattoos might escape notice, but an entire city sporting matching charms? It’s a suicide, they’ll be slaughtered in their homes before the governor gives in to their demands._

His senses still primed, he stilled, holding his breath. Above, he felt the presence of a patrol heading toward the disguised alley. It was far too soon for another round, and this many guards never patrolled together.

_It’s an ambush. I’m not the only one who’s been watching them. They may have even bugged the place, could have been listening in this whole time._

Tien hastened back toward the grate he had entered, exercising the fine control he had mastered over his body. His steady heartbeat grew stronger as he noiselessly lifted the sewer cover and hoisted himself to the street in one neat, easy move. The guards were less than a minute away from the alley if his timing was right – which it always was.

With all his effort going now to speed and stealth, he slipped into the alley. The patrol was so close now he could see the reflection of their scope lights on the windows and signs. Ki snaked from his hand, weaving through the heap that disguised the entrance where it collected in an invisible, pulsing pool. His back to the wall, Tien waited, frozen and silent as the patrol stepped into the alley.

The air was tense, and for once there was no jeering laughter, no relaxed demeanor about the guards. Their leader signaled and the remaining four guards spread into a half-moon, circling the entrance to the hideout with their guns drawn. A heartbeat passed. Tien inhaled and leaped from the ledge he was perched on, his movements so fast the patrol had no time to react. He was a blur, a shadow come alive, death walking.

A second heartbeat and he broke the neck of the leader, sending them crumpling to the ground. Rhythmically, he stepped to the side, striking with two fingers at the back of the next guard’s neck hard enough to sever their brain stem. A third heartbeat, and before the previous guard even began to fall, Tien struck the next one’s spine with a knee. The vertebrae cracked and separated, and Tien twisted to strike their chest with a ki-imbued blow. The now-lifeless body slammed into the wall between the last two standing.

A fourth heartbeat and Tien lunged in the same direction as his victim. They would be reacting by now, their weight still shifting as they raised their rifles to aim at the attacker they could not see. The left guard was braver, but quicker to die. They stepped forward and Tien responded with a bladed hand to the throat. He felt the windpipe crush and the rifle dropped from the guard’s hands as they sank to their knees, gurgling and gasping for air.

A fifth heartbeat pounded in his chest. The last guard’s eyes were wide with fright as they fired a crazed shot. The plasma bolt melted through the metal wall on the other side of the alley, releasing caustic smoke into the air. Tien struck with two fingers again, between the guard’s widened eyes. Their face caved in and blood spurted from their nose and eyes as ki liquified their brain.

Tien exhaled. Turning on his heel, he climbed back up the way he had come in, releasing control of the pool of ki wrapped around the grate covering. The explosion rocked the entire block, and dozens of windows shattered behind him as he scaled the catwalks and building ledges to make his escape. If one patrol knew of the meeting place, more would as well. It was just as well that they be forced to find a new location. For now, he had guards to deal with. His mind was made up – he would aid them, from the shadows. No matter what it took, he would make sure they made it all the way to the front door of the governor’s house. He would set it right.


	8. A Revolution, A Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tien's efforts comes to a head.

DECEMBER, 750

The capitol buzzed with excitement over the next several weeks. Rumors spread faster than plague about a vigilante who stalked the night. A whole command of troops had been killed, an old man proclaimed drunkenly as he stood atop a bar countertop and raved to anyone who would listen. Why, he had been right there, so close that the explosion knocked his photos off the wall. The bartender scoffed, but a few other patrons agreed that _something_ had happened at least.

Workers crowding the trains who were usually silent and drawn filled the cars with the animated buzz of conversation. There was a secret group of rebels working to protect them, and they were going to free the capitol from Red Ribbon’s grip. No, another woman argued, the rebels didn’t kill the guards, it was a demon come to haunt and take its vengeance for the destruction of the war.

Trepidation and unease filled the barracks with the stench of fear, and tempers rose among the guards. Things were all well and good when work was easy pay to harass defenseless citizens, but a cushy capitol job was supposed to _prevent_ your life from being endangered, not cause it. Many of the guards deserted immediately, and chaos blossomed in the ranks like fungus devouring a corpse.

Within the same week, as the patrol was killed, the harassment of the guards scaled up. The citizens were not so wont to take it lying down though, now that they felt there was someone on their side. Fights between guards and citizens broke out in every district, many of them ending with arrests for civil disobedience. Tensions rose and citizens began banding together in groups when walking the streets, more of them sporting the little wooden charms each day.

Tien kept the pressure on, skipping out on the work lines to break into the administrative buildings and gather information about guard movements. There was talk among the governor’s office to request troops from the RRA outpost in the south but the worry of oversight from the Commission stalled them. Since the rebellion, troop movements were closely scrutinized, and the governor was hesitant to report chaos in the city for fear of losing his autonomous control.

He was glad he had avoided notice while working – no one would miss his presence now. The guard presence on the streets doubled, making it easier to take out more at once. His last break-in to the office of the Captain had been rewarding; he now knew the names of all the tattoo wearers in the rebel group. They called themselves the Ripples. Supposedly what had looked like a target was meant to symbolize the way a single drop of water on a pond will cause endless ripples. Tien hoped that his efforts were a strong enough drop. If he failed, the city would fall even lower.

After his massacre at the Ripples’ hiding place, a patrol constantly surrounded Aija’s building, but after the second group Tien left lying in a mangled heap on the front street, they stopped sending them. The guards whispered amongst themselves about the “Wind Devil” pursuing them. The superstitious rumors from the people had gained the most traction among the guards, many of whom were now feeling guilty over taking up oppressive arms against their fellow citizens. The ranks dwindled day by day until the governor finally caved and pulled them all back to his district.

Tien sat on a window ledge in the dead of night, listening to the governor pace the room as he addressed the captains and sergeants of the guard. He was a slim man, who moved too easily in his high collared bureaucratic uniform. He reminded Tien of a snake, but this snake was sweating profusely as he ranted about the guard deaths.

“I don’t believe in this demonic nonsense! Those gutter rats are always babbling about one omen or another, claiming they see things no one else does. This is the work of those goddamn rebel trash. If they want to turn into animals, so be it, they can rot for all I care. Tonight, I want you to close the gates, the train, everything. This district is on lockdown, and your _only_ job is to protect me, do you understand!?” his face was mottled red with rage.

The guard leaders were stiff as they mumbled an assent, tripping over each other to leave as he dismissed them with a huff and a wave. Tien slipped from the window and swiftly made his way out of the district, heading toward Aija’s building. It was time to reveal himself – the thought made him smile in amusement – his glamored self, at least.

* * *

Aija strained to hear Velis, even in the quiet street. They kept their voices hushed as they hurried back to her complex. Over a week ago, an explosion had wracked their meeting bunker, which happened to be where Velis lived. Since then, she and the other Ripples had taken turns each night sheltering him.

Velis was a wanted man, a defected medical officer from the RRA. He left after the rebellion began, sharing the theory of many that Red Ribbon was behind the entire conflict. Since then, he had worked tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of the citizens in the capitol.

“I hear they’re pulling back all the guards, and I worry about the people in the prison,” he was saying.

Aija shook her head, lips pursing as they entered the complex and headed toward the stairs, “That doesn’t sound good. We need to do something, and fast. They’re likely to die in there, they’re starving already.”

Velis nodded, “I agree, but even in the wake of our mysterious helper, the people still hesitate to take up the cause. They fear the governor will hire Red Ribbon.”

“He won’t,” a deep voice called from the dark hallway in front of them.

Aija reached for the plasma pistol at her hip and heard the whisper of Velis’ knife leaving his belt. A soft laugh came from the same direction as the voice.

“Show yourself, what do you want?” she demanded.

Her eyes strained to see in the dark. All the bulbs in the dilapidated building’s common areas had been stolen or burnt out.

“To talk about the Wind Devil,” the voice answered.

A tall man stepped into view, broad-shouldered and muscled. A twisted green turban cap sat on his head, and a ratty white cloak was thrown over one shoulder and pinned at the breast. Intense eyes framed a scar-laden face with a twisted lip.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” she demanded, “That’s close enough, speak your piece.”

The man did as she requested, but she never loosed her grip on her weapon.

“It’s me, I’ve been working against the guards,” he said simply.

The frank demeanor took her by surprise, and she exchanged an uneasy look with Velis, who gave a near-imperceptible shrug before speaking.

“You mean to tell us you single-handedly murdered dozens of guards within the span of one week?”

The man nodded and gave a hideous smile, “That’s right. And I’m the one who saved you from being ambushed by a patrol the night you decided to march on the governor’s district.”

Aija’s skin tingled and she felt the hair on her arms stand on end. “I don’t believe you,” she said, her voice more confident than she felt, “you’re going to have to give us something other than your word if you expect us to trust you.”

A dramatic sigh escaped the man’s lips and he tilted his head to the side. “If you insist,” he said, stepping closer and grinning as she raised her weapon higher.

He placed a hand to the wall next to him and dug his fingers in, almost imperceptibly. The concrete cracked beneath his palm, caving in half a meter in each direction before cracking all the way to the ceiling.

His gaze never left hers as he spoke, “Is that convincing enough? I’d hate to destroy what’s left of this building any further. I know you’re the Ripples, I know your names are Aija and Velis, and I know you’re an ex-medical officer,” he said, his gaze finally swinging to Velis, “and I want to help you free the city.”

“Don’t look at me,” Velis frowned, “Aija will be the one to decide if we let you go or take you prisoner.”

The man dropped his hand from the wall. “You’d be wasting your time trying. If you won’t accept my help, I’ll just have to do it alone. Pity,” he said, brushing past them as if their weapons were nonexistent.

Aija gritted her teeth. There was nothing she hated more than a self-absorbed hero who thought he could swoop in and take over _her_ resistance movement.

“Wait. What do you plan to do, that you finally deign to inform us of your involvement? I take it you either need or want our assistance, so out with it.”

His back was still to them when he answered, “Your people are locked in the prison still, right? The governor has pulled back almost all the guards to his district, meaning that it’s virtually unguarded – if there are any guards at all,” he finally turned around, “and I can guarantee you he won’t call in Red Ribbon reinforcements because it would mean oversight and questions from the Commission. Questions he doesn’t want to answer. He’s hoping he can wait you out, let your families and friends die in prison, and pretend nothing ever happened before anyone catches on.”

“Yes, thank you for the dire picture,” she snapped impatiently.

Ignoring her tone, he continued, “Few guards means little protection for the supply depot – for the weapons store, the food reserves.”

“Meaning we could take it easy,” she said slowly before giving him a sharp look, “If we work with you, there’s one condition. No more killing.”

The man looked surprised, and she continued, finally putting her weapon away, “We aren’t murderers, and don’t intend to become them. The governor and his forces should stand trial for what they’ve done.”

The man considered for a moment. “It changes some things, but I can agree to those terms. I will need to let them sound the alarm,” he leveled his gaze at her, “and lure the remaining guards in the city to the supply depot if I’m to incapacitate them.”

“Now hold on,” Velis interrupted, “you really think you can take them all on by yourself? And we need time to prepare, we can’t just-”

The man cut him off, “Tomorrow night. No arguments. All you have to do is this – break everyone free and meet me at the supply depot. Arm yourselves, as a show of force,” he emphasized as Aija began to protest,” and take the entire city with you to his front gates. I’ll be ahead of you, making sure his district defenses are disabled.”

“And we’re supposed to just trust you?” Aija asked incredulously.

The man shrugged, “I will open the supply depot and disable the governor’s defenses with or without your aid. What you do after that is your choice.” Without waiting for them to respond, he strode down the stairs, his cloak snapping behind him.

* * *

In the distance, Tien could hear the cries and shouts of people mingled with clanging metal and pounding footsteps. The prison break was going well, he hoped, as he braced himself for the oncoming contingency of guards. He cloaked his body in ki, gritting his teeth and focusing on his form.

Four Witches on the Mountain took immense focus and willpower and he dug his feet into the street beneath him as the second pair of arms materialized from his back. The glamor was dropped; it would do him no good to waste energy on concealing himself from people who wouldn’t believe their eyes anyway.

His height increased nearly a meter, and he was glad he had stepped outside the supply depot before beginning. The guards rushing down the street sent vibrations through the ground, causing the puddles to ripple in the moonlight. He let his third eye open, seeking out his prey as they rounded the corner in horror. One guard nearly tripped and fell, yelping as their comrade pulled them back.

“Fire! By the name of the gods kill that thing!” their commander cried.

They were but twenty, and Tien laughed in spite of himself, aware of the terror the act would strike into the guards. A hail of plasma bullets screamed through the air and dissipated into his ki shield, evoking looks of horror from the guards.

The desperation showing on their faces, they rushed him, drawing batons and shock wands. Tien dodged most of the blows, snarling in irritation at the burning sensation from being electrocuted. Shock was the enemy of concentration; he increased his speed, letting instinct and muscle memory take over and he rained blows around him. One by one, the guards fell to the ground, the last of them hitting the wet street just moments before Aija came into view.

A bedraggled, dirty crew ran yelling behind her, flashlights strobing through the dark night and glinting off the building walls and windows. Tien was already leaving the scene, not wishing to invite any curiosity as to his bizarre form. His skin burned from the shock wands as the enhanced form faded and he winced in pain when he brushed against a railing. He hoped he bought the Ripples enough time to arm themselves and get out before any of the guards regained consciousness.

Tien could smell the governor’s fear as he scaled the building; the man’s fear reeked worse than a week-old refuse pile. He placed a hand to the bars covering the thick window, pulsing a ki blast that shattered the reinforced pain. The governor was sitting behind his desk, white knuckles gripping the arms of his chair as sweat poured down his face. Tien ripped the bars easily and swung himself inside, landing in a half-crouch on the floor.

“Who are you?” the governor asked franticly, scrambling out of his chair so fast he stumbled and fell.

Tien grinned widely, “Why, I’m the Wind Demon.”

He had not thought the governor’s face could be any paler, but the man resembled a ghost at those words.

“Impossible!” he stammered, backing up until he hit the wall behind him, “you can’t be, no one can be him!” his voice pitched so high he was nearly shrieking.

Tien glared at him, “None of that fucking nonsense,” he snapped as he lashed out with ki, wrapping the governor up snugly and gagging him with the tendril.

A pulsing glow filled the room and to Tien’s surprise, the governor almost immediately passed out from apparent shock. Tien shrugged, crossing the room to the wide door that led to a balcony on the front of the building. Aija and Velis would be there soon, and he needed to make sure they would be safe.

A quick glance confirmed they hadn’t arrived yet, and he ducked back out to the hall. Luckily, these were the original bureaucratic rooms, and the security room was exactly where he remembered. He knocked the officer at the door unconscious before they even knew he was there before quickly shutting down all of the defenses and activating the floodlights at the gate. He wanted the guards to see every face that was out there, to hear every cry rallying for freedom.

Shouts reached his ears and he quickly strode back to the balcony and threw the doors open. Aija and Velis stood at the front of the crowd, carrying a banner between them of the red and black target. The capitol troops rushed to the gate, drawing their rifles and forming a line to face the screaming crowd. When Tien came into view and leaned over the balcony rail though, everyone fell silent.

“It is pointless to resist,” he called down to the guards below, “the citizens you have so cruelly oppressed outnumber you easily five to one. Look on this sea of outrage and try to deny them their freedom. You must listen to what they have to say,” he pointed to Aija and Velis in front.

Aija nodded raising her voice, “We would see the governor gone, and in his place one who truly represents our interests. We have no desire to kill any of you, and you have my word that if you surrender you will come to no harm. We are armed to defend ourselves, not to attack you as you have us! You will stand trial for your crimes, or we will remain at this gate until you starve. You must choose!”

The guards below looked at one another uncertainly, their weapons still drawn.

“We’ve raided the supply depot, and soon it will be empty as we distribute food back to the people. Will you stand here and starve, just to protect the governor? A man who has terrorized your families, a man who made your existence so miserable that you chose to take up arms against your fellow citizens?”

The silence that followed her words was ominous, and Tien could hear his own heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears as the tension mounted. A guard finally threw down their rifle and raised their hands over their head, looking accusingly at their comrades.

“She’s right, I’m the only one left in my family now, and if we keep this up, we’re all going to be alone. Better to be sentenced than wipe each other out,” they insisted.

More rifles clattered to the ground amongst rippling waves of agreement, and one guard stepped forward to open the gate. They hesitated, and Tien saw Aija pin them with a look that impressed even him.

“They will not harm you,” she swung her gaze to the crowd behind her, “isn’t that right, Ripples!” she shouted, eliciting a deafening roar of cheers from the sea of faces. “Tonight, the East will be free again!”

* * *

From atop one of the tallest buildings in the city, Tien looked down at the people below celebrating. The sky was filled with fireworks and laughter broke out in nearly every square. The rank smell of the city had been replaced with mingling scents of food and gunpowder smoke, and the whole city was lit up. Aija had immediately contacted the Commission and she and Velis had taken over the governor’s building after locking up the guards in the prison. The governor remained under Velis’ watchful eye in a specialized containment cell, and Tien knew that the Commission would probably arrive at the city at first light.

It felt good, he realized, better than any contract he’d ever taken on. He was certain that this time, he’d made the right choice. Perhaps, he had finally managed to right everything he’d set wrong.

Unknown to Tien, a pair of eyes watched him from several buildings over, narrowing with a fierce hatred that only belongs to the gaze of those who have tasted true betrayal.

The next day was unlike any Tien had ever known. The people walked with their heads high, laughing amongst each other and casting curious glances at the sharply dressed Commission officers milling about the streets. It had taken until late afternoon before they even arrived, and still they seemed to be taking their time covering every bit of the capitol. A small voice called his name across the square, and Tien turned to see Chiaotzu skipping across the square, a huge roasted bird leg in his tiny hands.

“Mister Ten!” he called, rushing up to him eagerly, “Didja hear? The mean old governor got kicked out, Miss Aija gave a _grand_ speech up there, and-” his eyes widened as he fished in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of candy, “have you seen the food lines? There’s so much, they’re giving it out to all the people!”

Tien laughed easily, eyeing him, “That’s an awful lot of bird for someone so small, are you sure you can manage that?”

Chiaotzu nodded enthusiastically, “I’m gonna go share it with my best friend. He’s a dog, do you wanna meet him? It’s been tough to feed both of us, but now I don’t have to worry anymore!”

Tien was taken aback by the wave of emotion that hit him and felt his glamor nearly slip. He nodded, surprised when Chiaotzu slipped a tiny greasy hand in his to tug him along impatiently. He followed the smaller boy throughout the city, patting the admiring dog and smiling as Chiaotzu proudly introduced him to a few of the other children he had seen. The sun hung late in the sky when they finally made their way back to the bazaar.

Chiaotzu had pointed out an empty building with colorful neon around the roof and scampered up the ladder chattering about ‘the best view in the city’ before Tien could protest. Through ridiculous laughing and dramatized carbonation burps, Chiaotzu was trying to tell a wild story that Tien was almost certain he’d entirely made up. A sinister voice behind them made Tien’s palms sweat and his skin turn clammy.

“If it isn’t my dear brother’s stray _dog_.”

Tien recognized Tao’s sneering tone and immediately turned around, stepping in front of Chiaotzu. Control was beyond him at this point, and he felt the glamor disintegrate as his heart thundered in his chest.

“Run, Chiaotzu,” he said sharply as he felt a tiny hand reach for his leg. He could feel Chiaotzu’s fear mounting and throttled his own, his eyes never leaving Tao’s.

“Protecting people now, are we? I thought for sure that the Tokai were wrong, that you could never have betrayed my brother, but I see now you’re capable of so much weakness. You disgust me,” Tao spat, striding toward them.

He disappeared into an after-image and Tien lunged forward, pulling away from Chiaotzu to block Tao’s first kick. The impact rattled his arm and he set his teeth.

“Leave the kid out of this! This is between you and me!” he shouted, following Tao through his movements; never striking and only deflecting as he tried to push him away from Chiaotzu.

Their raised voices were drawing attention from the crowd and bystanders began to point and chatter amongst themselves as Tien and Tao danced across the roof.

“Leave you alone?” Tao mocked, “why, I was certain you wanted me to find you, with the way you’ve been traipsing around the city flashing your ki about. That sniveling ki is unmistakable, stained with your ridiculous notions of honor.”

Red crept across Tien’s vision as he finally shifted his movements to antagonize Tao, “Curse you, Tao! Do you think I betrayed you by killing Shen? You are the real betrayer; I know the truth about my family and where I came from?”

Tao seemed surprised for a moment. “Is that why you defend this street trash so vehemently? Why you pandered to these people and their pathetic rebellion? You could have been so much more, Tien. The three of us could have taken over the Tokai one day, but instead, you waste your time with _filth_ ,” he snarled.

Horrified, Tien watched as Tao’s gaze shifted, tried to lunge for Chiaotzu as he watched the _dodon_ beam of ki spark to life on Tao’s fingertip. He was too slow. Tao’s attack flew towards Chiaotzu, obliterating his tiny body and ripping off the side of the building. Tien landed hard on the roof; his fingers clawed in a desperate reach to save his friend. The world seemed to go silent and all he could hear was the sound of his own heart and breath.

Maniacal laughter became audible as he stood slowly, a rage he’d never known filling his entire body. He was vaguely aware of the people screaming on the street, of the setting sun’s blood-red glow, and the tension of his veins pulsing at his temples. Tao stood triumphant, still in Cat Stalks Its Prey as he glared at Tien venomously.

Tien’s eyes glazed over, and he smelled blood as he lifted his head to meet Tao’s villainous gaze. “You dare call him filth? His name was CHIAOTZU!” he roared, throwing his head back and holding his hands in front of him, “ _KIKOHO!_ ” he screamed as the roof and the surrounding block was plunged into blinding light as he released more ki than he had ever let out at once.

Too late, he realized it was too much – he was probably about to die. It was just as well, he thought, he had failed yet again. He fell to his knees as blackness overtook him.

* * *

Harsh overhead lighting woke Tien with a start, and he squinted, sitting up. He froze, looking around the room he was in. An imposing man sat across from him in a metal chair that was the only furniture in the room beside the bed Tien lay in. He looked down and frowned. An IV was taped to his arm.

_So, some kind of…medical confinement cell. Who is this guy?_

As if reading his thoughts, the man spoke, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kung Lei-Tian, Imperial Duizui of the Central Commission. I don’t know who you are, but this is the second time in three months that a member of the Tokai has turned up dead, at the hands of a young man not yet in his prime.”

 _Fuck, he knows about Yamcha! I have to warn him that they know!_ Tien panicked, his peripherals scanning the room for any means of escape.

A single guard stood at the door, meaning if he could get through Kung, he might be able to make it out, even in his weakened state. Kung never broke eye contact, and Tien realized part of the tension in the room was his ki – and he wasn’t even bothering to hide it.

“Let me also say that I am not an enemy, nor do I consider you one. We brought you here to keep you away from prying eyes. I would offer you the same that I did the last young man who brought a Tokai to their deserved end – amnesty.”

_So he’s already spoken to Yamcha, then. I have to get back to_ _Lun_ _Chu…have to get home._

“I think I’d like to leave now if it’s just the same to you,” Tien said, pulling the IV from his arm and standing shakily.

Kung shrugged, “No matter. I am certain our paths will meet again. Perhaps sooner than you might think.”

* * *

Tien burst through the door, calling out for Lun Chu already. His words died in his throat as he looked in horror at her tiny body lying facedown on the floor. Exhausted from his attack on Tao and the grueling journey home, he fell to his knees, cradling her limp body in his arms.

_I’m too late._

A faint shudder grabbed his attention and he lifted his head to see her blue hair shimmer as it turned blonde, flashing instead of staying steady.

Her delicate lids fluttered open, and the onyro’s husky voice whispered, “I felt it…you finally avenged me. Tao, he’s gone, isn’t he?”

Tien nodded, his eyes burning as he fiercely blinked back tears.

Lun Chu smiled, her breathing labored as she spoke, “It’s time for me to leave, to return to Otherworld.”

“Lun Chu…what’s wrong with, well the other you? Is she – is she dead?” he whispered.

“Once possessed,” she gasped, “a vessel has a ticking clock and will eventually expire. You should know…she must have truly loved you…she held out, so long, waiting for you to come back as if she was fighting to stay with you. I…” the blonde faded completely back to blue.

Tien shuddered and he pulled her tiny form tightly to his chest, “I never got to tell you how much you meant to me,” he managed, his voice breaking as tears finally broke free of his lids.

So quiet he was afraid he imagined it, the whispered reply came, “Thank you…Tien.”


	9. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life must move on, and it will take Tien, Vegeta, and Kakarot to unexpected places.

Morning on the seaside was hazy and gray, the mists rolled in from the ocean and blanketed the forest in a humid cloak. The sun had yet to even tinge the clouds with its pink rays, and the smell of fresh-turned earth filled the air. Tien wiped the sweat from his forehead and tossed his shovel aside before sinking to his knees in front of the filled grave. Lun Chu would have wanted to buried here, he reasoned, in the garden where she spent so much of her time.

A pile of cleaned saplings lay off to the side, and he eyed the soft ground in front of him, contemplating. It didn’t feel right to bury her without a marker, but he knew nothing of her, he realized – certainly not enough to know what kind of death rites she might have observed. He set about instead to build a trellis around the grave, to encourage the flowers to embrace her in death.

He drove the end of each of the saplings into the ground along one side of the grave before bending them hard to curve into an arch and driving the other end down. The flowers would find their way, he knew. His eyes burned, from sweat or tears he knew not, and he leaned his head back, blinking furiously. The gray sky was turning lavender as the sun crept towards the horizon.

The tiny house the two of them had called home brought him nothing but pain to look at, and he had decided it had to go. Meticulously, he emptied the cabinets of everything flammable, littering the few rooms before dumping the contents of an antiseptic kit across the walls and floor.

Tien gave the house a longing look, then hurled a bolt of ki with all the fire energy he could muster through the still-open door. He stood, watching the flames lick the sides of the building and listening to the wood creak and groan at length until nothing remained but an inferno as the walls collapsed in on themselves. Wearily, he sat down to watch the blaze, the fiery tendrils mesmerizing him through his numbness.

What would he do now? Where would he go?

The capitol would manage on their own, he was sure. Aija had managed to spark a rebellion with virtually no resources – with the Commission’s help surely the city would return to its prosperous days. One thing was for certain, he never wanted to return to this place.

A volatile pulse of energy tickled at the edge of his mind. The ki signature was familiar but he was surprised by its immense strength. He frowned. Metro West, he guessed, was where it came from – where Bulma had returned to.

_Vegeta._

He had known it would only be a matter of time before Vegeta recovered from Shen’s attack, but he never anticipated that he could grow so strong so fast. He certainly had not been this strong when Tien saw him last – if he had, perhaps he would have considered training him alongside Yamcha. Perhaps the battle with Shen would not have been so terrifying.

The signature surged and Tien gave up all hope of being able to focus and meditate. He would have to get used to it, he decided. After all, he had gotten used to feeling Kakarot’s strength increasing from the island nearby where he knew Roshi, the Turtle Hermit lived. It didn’t surprise him that the old man had pounced on the opportunity to train such a willing student. He found himself wondering if perhaps what Shen had told him about the man was false as well. It was a thought for another time. An idea began to form in his mind.

_What if…I could become a teacher myself? If I could train others to defend themselves and their families, I could prevent another disaster like the Red Ribbon Rebellion. A fitting end to Shen’s legacy – he taught me to destroy, but I will teach others to defend. I must avoid making the same mistake I did with Yamcha. I will not break anyone else!_

The next Tenkaichi would be coming in spring, and no doubt would be full of eager young fighters anxious to prove their mettle. Winning would present no obstacle, of that he was confident. The prize money held more appeal than the fame of being known as the champion – with it he could open his own school. After all, who _wouldn’t_ want to be trained by the winner of the famous Tenkaichi?

He knew from Shen that the spotlight of a champion was one of luxury. Tien was willing to bet that fame was not the corrupting evil Shen and Tao had painted it as. The previous reigning champion, Hercule, had stayed in the eye and favor of the public even long after he quit competing. In fact, Tien was almost certain he remembered that Hercule himself now managed and promoted the tournament.

They say that great decisions should never be made in moments of emotion, but unfortunately, Tien had never heard anyone say that. And so, he resolved to find a place to push himself to the limit training until the day of the tournament arrived – somewhere he could ignore Vegeta and his infuriatingly volatile ki.

* * *

MAY 750

It was the day before the tournament, and Kakarot was beside himself with excitement. He could hardly contain himself as Roshi drove through Metro West to a hotel near the stadium. His face pressed against the glass, he stared upward, slack-jawed, even after Roshi prodded him out of the car and into the hotel.

“Hey, kodomo. Are your ears broken or have you forgotten how to listen?” Roshi nudged him with his foot.

Kakarot pulled back from the hotel room window, scratching his head in embarrassment, “Sorry, I’ve just never seen anywhere like this!” his eyes shone.

“Yes, yes, your first time in a big Earth city,” Roshi said impatiently, “get used to it. Now listen, I’ve got some ah…things to attend to, so why don’t you run along and find Vegeta. It shouldn’t be too hard, now that you can sense the ki of others. Just don’t get into any trouble, eh?” he handed Kakarot a slim piece of plastic, “and don’t lose this – you’ll need it to get back into the room when you come back. I expect you by sundown, no later,” he said sternly.

Kakarot nearly snatched the key from Roshi, nodding impatiently as he bounded over to the door. “See ya!” he called without looking back.

His feet hit the sidewalk outside the hotel and he sniffed the air hard, ecstatic over the multitude of delicious smells. His stomach growled.

_I bet Vegeta could take me somewhere good to eat._

He closed his eyes for a moment, sifting through the swells of people, and frowned. It was harder here – it felt as if he could sense every person in the city. They all seemed to run together, no one feeling different until he sensed a spike in a signature.

_That must be him, but it feels…different? I’d better make sure I’m goin’ the right way._

A woman walked by him, her pale purple skin seeming to swirl in the sunlight.

“Hi there!” he called out, “could you tell me which way to go to get to Capsule Corp?”

She turned to him and smiled, her lips parting to reveal slender fangs and short, sharp teeth. “Sure, just turn at the end of the street and head north – look for the big round towers, you won’t miss it!” she said, never slowing her pace.

_Wow, there are people from other planets here! I’ll have to ask Master Roshi about it, maybe he can tell me more._

He wrapped his tail snugly around his waist and set off in the direction the woman pointed, trying to focus on Vegeta’s signature. Her directions proved useful, and it wasn’t long before he saw the towers she mentioned, looming over an enormous compound and framing a large sign which read, _Capsule Corp: The Home of Hope & Innovation._

A solid wall surrounded the compound, with a towering gate being the only break. Uncertain of what to do, he peered at the little screen on it, jumping back when it lit up and displayed a man’s face.

“Good Afternoon, visitor,” a robotic voice announced from the speaker above the screen, “please state your name and business. If you have an appointment, please state your confirmation number.”

“Uh…” Kakarot stammered, “My name is Kakarot, I just came to say hi to Vegeta and Bulma.”

“Miss Briefs is not available at the moment. I will relay your message to Mr. Vegeta. Please wait here,” the voice answered after a moment.

The screen shut off and Kakarot rocked back on his heels, peering at the top of the wall impatiently. He felt like he would crawl out of his skin from waiting by the time the voice came back.

“Welcome to Capsule Corp, Mr. Kakarot. Please proceed through the main door, someone will escort you to see Mr. Vegeta.”

Kakarot followed a short man – or woman, he couldn’t tell - with dark green, scaly skin through Capsule Corp, gaping at the massive interior and bright lighting along the way. The whole compound felt like it was crackling with ki, and his tail drifted away from his waist, twitching with excitement.

_He’s so strong! Oh man, I can’t wait to practice with him!_

His sensitive ears picked up Bulma’s voice, scolding Vegeta as the escort gestured to a door.

“Mr. Vegeta and Miss Briefs are inside, you may proceed,” the escort said with a surprisingly soft voice, before turning and walking back the way they had come.

“Kakarot will be here any minute,” he heard Vegeta complaining, “get your hands off my face.”

“Hold still!” Bulma scolded as Kakarot opened the door, grinning to himself.

Vegeta’s face lit up and he nearly knocked over the table in front of him as he vaulted over it to meet Kakarot. The bandage wrapping on his arm fluttered behind him as he cocked back a fist and Bulma squeaked. Kakarot threw himself forward with a fist of his own, a tingle racing down his spine to the tip of his tail as his fist collided with Vegeta’s. The room shook and a picture fell off the wall, crashing to the floor.

“The bond holds strong, brother,” Vegeta smiled, standing straight and giving Kakarot a scrutinizing look.

Kakarot shivered, holding back a dam of emotion. The months training with Roshi had kept his mind exhausted and occupied. Now, standing in front of his best friend, his battle brother, feelings flooded to the surface. Impulsively, he closed the distance between them, crushing Vegeta in a fierce hug. He felt Vegeta tentatively return his embrace, stepping back only when Bulma interrupted.

“I see how it is, not even so much as a hello for me?” she teased, her light tone betraying her sarcasm.

Without waiting for an invitation, she sidled past Vegeta and gave Kakarot a quick hug of her own.

“I’m so glad you finally decided to visit! Vegeta here just about took down the door of the simudeck racing upstairs to meet you,” she laughed softly.

Kakarot nodded, “I came here because Master Roshi wants me to enter into the Tenkaichi tournament. I got really strong, so I hope I can win!”

“A tournament? I didn’t know Earthlings competed,” Vegeta remarked.

Bulma shook her head, “Surely you didn’t think you were the only planet of hot-heads eager to beat on each other? Sometimes I wonder if the two of you ever think about anything but fighting.”

As if on cue, Kakarot’s stomach growled again, and he grinned at her sheepishly. “Well, fighting and food.”

Impatiently rewinding the bandage on his arm that came loose, Vegeta nodded toward the open door, “Come on, I’ll take you to a good spot, and you can tell me about that old hermit’s training while we walk.

* * *

“So, you still can’t fly, then?” Vegeta asked as he tipped his head back and drained his bowl.

“Mmmnffhmm,” Kakarot mumbled, slurping a mouthful of noodles, “Master Roshi says the Earthling who taught flight was that,” he lowered his voice and looked around before continuing quieter, “that Shen guy. So, he doesn’t teach it.”

Vegeta reached for another steaming bowl, dumping sliced eggs into it. “We have to fix that, then,” he grinned at Kakarot, who was all but hidden behind his own bowl, “Pretty good, huh? This place has every kind of noodle Earth can offer, and lucky for us Bulma has a standing offer here, something the Earthlings call ‘all you can eat’,” he said, dropping a handful of chopped garlic into his bowl and inhaling deeply.

“It’s so good – I wish Master Roshi would cook like this! It’s always plain fish and rice, no real bloody meat!” Kakarot said in exasperation, “I’m going to miss this when the tournament is over. Say, are you going to enter to compete?” Kakarot asked.

“Maybe, I don’t think many Earthlings are strong, but I’ve noticed there’s a lot of humanoids from other planets here. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to get some fun practice in, even if it’s not a challenge to kill such weaklings,” Vegeta said disinterestedly.

“Well no,” Kakarot frowned, “Master Roshi specifically said you’re not allowed to kill anyone, it’s not a fight to the death.”

Vegeta grunted, “Then why even bother? I have no interest in playing at child’s games.”

“He says that it’s for the competitors to prove their strength of self-control,” Kakarot said as he shook his head.

“He also says flying is bad just because one maniac did it,” Vegeta scoffed, “but you’re not going to let that stop you from learning from me, is it?” he grinned as Kakarot shook his head again.

“You’ll come and watch though, right Vegeta?” Kakarot asked.

The earnest note in his voice caught Vegeta’s attention. Sometimes he forgot about just how much Kakarot looked up to him. A battle bond…he was more than just that.

“Of course,” he scoffed, hiding his face in his bowl, “I can’t just let you go off to be trained and not see how you’ve done,” he lowered the bowl, smiling mischievously, “in fact, why don’t we go back to Bulma’s and spar together a bit there, show me what you’ve learned?”

* * *

The night was dark and humid, thick, low clouds hanging in the evening sky as spotlights from the arena danced off of them. Hundreds of rows of seats climbed high into the air, crested by a ring of elaborate balconied suites.

“Bulma this is amazing, it must have cost a fortune! You must let me repay you in a similar way,” Chi bubbled as she took in the box seats overlooking the arena.

“We’ll be able to see everything from here, so we shouldn’t miss any of Kakarot’s matches. And don’t worry about the seats, you’re a guest here,” she smiled and looked as if she was going to continue, but a voice from the doorway made her wince.

“Miss Briefs! How good to see you at the tournament this year!” came a booming voice.

A tall, swarthy man with sharp, handsome features nearly filled the door. Thick curly hair was swept back at his temples and ended in wild curls tied back to rest above his shoulders. The man moved with practiced ease in tailored, deep red clothes as he entered the room.

“Hello, Mr. Satan,” Bulma greeted him before gesturing to Chi and Roshi. “This is Princess Chi of Fa Pan, and I’m sure you’ve heard of the Turtle Hermit, Roshi.”

“Please, call me Hercule. Let’s save the formalities for later, hm? After all, we’ve known each other nearly your whole life,” he said easily, nodding and greeting Roshi and Chi.

The three exchanged pleasantries, but Hercule’s mind was clearly preoccupied.

“I don’t suppose your parents will be joining you this year?” he sounded almost hopeful.

Bulma quickly shook her head, her arms crossing in spite of herself. Hercule’s smile tightened a bit, and his eyes lost their shine, but he remained polite.

“I see. At any rate, I hope that you all enjoy the matches this year. Please give your mother my regards.” He gave a gentle wave of his hand as a voice from the hall called his name, and ducked back out of the room.

Roshi chuckled and gave Bulma a grin. “I heard rumors years ago that Hercule had a girlfriend, how about that. Never would have guessed it to be a socialite.”

Bulma glared at him and pointed fiercely to the balcony railing. “How about I toss you down there and you can go compete with gravity? A hundred thousand zenni says you hit the ground before you can call for help.”

To her surprise, Roshi’s face and tone relaxed.

“I mean no offense to your mother, Bulma. If anything, it’s an insult to Hercule. I never thought a fighter like him would be able to woo that kind of lady.”

“I’m tired of the gossip and the rumors,” she huffed, “people whisper about mom cheating with Hercule. They think I’m not my father’s daughter.” She walked to the railing and gripped it, frowning. “I avoid coming here so I don’t have to hear them talk about Hercule like he’s some animal and my mother like a liar. Mom always said he had a gentle side…but no one sees that. And all anyone sees of her is what you said - a socialite.”

“Clearly then, I have overstepped.” Roshi’s words were measured and deliberate. “Too often I oversimplify things, and it would seem that I have done so with both you and your mother. My sincere apologies.”

The shift in tone took Bulma off guard, but she was saved the necessity of immediate response when a roar from the crowd below drew their attention and the floodlights beamed down on the ring…

* * *

Kakarot scanned the crowd eagerly, trying to size up his potential opponents. Lots hadn’t been drawn yet, so he casually milled about. The corridors where fighters waited before entering the ring pulsed and vibrated with excitement and the occasional burst of ki. It seemed that most of the contestants were keeping their abilities under wraps, lest they tip their hand too soon. It was yet another reminder to Kakarot that the tournament was serious.

He tried to put a little more determination in his step, mumbling an apology as he nearly ran into a horned humanoid the size of Gyumao. Behind him, a short, well-muscled boy his own height was leaning against the far wall, just out of the edge of a harsh spotlight that shone from above. His head was shaved bald, and intricate tattoos of circles ran from his forehead to the middle of his skull. There was a clever ease about him that belied his casual stance and crossed arms.

Trying at once to appear both friendly and impressive, Kakarot approached him with a half-wave.

“Hey there! You’re the only kid my age here,” he started.

The other boy gave him a suspicious stare and his eyes darted around before he gave a nonchalant nod and a grunt.

Determined not to be put off, Kakarot continued.

“This is my first year competing. Is it yours too? I’m Kakarot.”

The other boy’s demeanor relaxed as he uncrossed his arms.

“A new kid, eh? So I’m guessing you’re not from the city then?” Without waiting for Kakarot to answer, he continued. “Well I’m Krillin, and I know this place like the back of my hand. Never fought myself of course, but you pick up a thing or two hanging around to watch the fights.”

He eyed Kakarot’s tail.

“Say, you’ve got a tail like a monkey - never seen anyone with that before. You’re definitely from off-world, huh?”

A little overwhelmed at the sudden shift in demeanor, Kakarot nodded wordlessly as Krillin motioned for him to follow and began weaving his way through the crowd.

“Me, I’m a human myself. It’s not so bad though, off worlders tend to overlook you, underestimate you.” Krillin continued his monologue, producing a shiny, rock orb from seemingly nowhere. It danced across his fingers and hands as he spoke, explaining the tournament rules and gleefully crowed about the potential prizes.

Kakarot clung to his every word, enamored that something as simple as a fight could be so complex. Roshi hadn’t said much about the tournament outside of training, but Kakarot supposed that was fair considering he hadn’t asked.

A familiar pair of bulging shoulders stood above the crowd and Kakarot stopped so fast he nearly tripped, balancing himself at the last moment with his tail.

“Tien!” he called, jumping up and waving his hand frantically. “Krillin, come this way, I know that guy! He’s really strong, let’s go, I’ll introduce you!”

Krillin protested at first before swearing and hurrying to follow him.

* * *

Kakarot was on a winning streak. He had thoroughly thrashed his opponents, sending fighter after fighter to the ground, out of the ring, or flat out running out of the arena yelling an acknowledgment of defeat. Despite his clumsy missteps and poor ki control, the human competitors were no fierce competition, and there were only a few offworlders present.

Roshi grumbled from the box as the matches progressed, complaining that in the days since Hercule’s rise to fame the whole event had devolved into mere spectacle. He praised Kakarot’s success but equally lamented what he deemed to be too easy a string of wins for the young Saiyan to truly take pride in.

More than anything else, it seemed the tournament participants had dismissed Kakarot’s size and youth. Their failure to fully appreciate the budding warrior before them signaled their rapid defeats, and the raucous cheers and roars of the crowd were clearly going to Kakarot’s head.

He beamed from his place in the ring, a triumphant fist raised over his head as his opponent lay unconscious on the ground beside him. Chi clapped her hands in delight, her face flushed as she stood at the railing and waved down.

“Are you worried about him?” Bulma asked, leaning closer to Vegeta.

He resisted the urge to cross his arms tighter and tossed his head.

“Absolutely not. He’s an accomplished warrior. He can certainly handle himself in some _Earthling_ game.”

Bulma raised an eyebrow at him but dropped the question. The twitch of Vegeta’s tail against his waist did not escape her notice.

The announcer called the next fight, and Vegeta watched in surprise as the first fighter to match Kakarot in age and size entered the ring. They seemed to know one another, as Kakarot gave a small wave before they bowed and the match begun.

* * *

Kakarot hadn’t seen Krillin fight yet, but excitement filled him at what he felt might actually be a fair match. His blood felt on fire and adrenaline surged through him as he thought with a mixture of pride and pain of his heritage. Raising his head, he eased onto the balls of his feet, trying to scrape together every warning Roshi had given him throughout his training.

Treading carefully, he traced a semi-circle around the ring, minding the distance between them and never taking his eyes from Krillin’s face. Krillin matched his move, his face impassible as he moved like a cat in an arc of his own.

_Maybe he’s scared to make the first move._

Hoping to press the element of surprise, Kakarot lunged forward with the intent to attack. Krillin had been waiting for the spring, and flung himself forward, arms tight and head down. Clumsily, Kakarot threw up a hasty elbow with his defensive arm, but the effort to stop the sudden advance left his ribs vulnerable.

Two rapid strikes from Krillin knocked his breath from his chest, and while they didn’t hurt as much as he had anticipated, they still stung - almost as much as his quickly wounded pride. Like all Saiyans, Kakarot was vulnerable to a battle rage, and to a burning desire to prove himself a warrior. This generational pride chafed against Roshi’s instruction of harmony, and the momentary clash muddled Kakarot’s thoughts. He shook himself and tried to regain his distance from Krillin.

_So, he fights like Vegeta, then. Well, that just means I can’t let him catch his breath._

* * *

Vegeta had unconsciously risen to his feet as Kakarot pressed Krillin, probing his defenses for an opening and raining down a hail of blows that Krillin staggered under. It was clear the young monk only kept his edge over Kakarot with sheer speed and cunning, anticipating the heavy blows by fractions of seconds. More than once, a blow landed halfway, and Vegeta could see that Krillin was growing desperate.

“Kakarot can end this in one blow if he can just keep his focus…he needs to connect,” Vegeta growled, his voice low. His tail was now unwound from his waist, twisting and writhing as he moved almost imperceptibly and nodded or frowned at intervals while he observed.

Finally, Kakarot landed a solid hit, and Krillin was forced to dance away, leading Kakarot to all but chase him around the ring as they traded flying kicks and jabs. The two young fighters matched each other move for move now, and the crowd frothed in the stands with screams and cheers over the mounting excitement.

“Hey!” Krillin called out, panting heavily. “Your shoe is untied,” he gestured to Kakarot’s foot.

Dread struck Vegeta as he watched helplessly while Kakarot knelt to the ground, taking his eyes off Krillin for the first time in the fight. Before he had even crouched all the way, Krillin was charging forward with intense speed and lunged with a knee to Kakarot’s head that sent him flying straight out of the ring.

Dead silence covered the arena for a moment before the onlookers rose to their feet in a furious chorus of deafening shouts. Vegeta fell back into his chair, shaking his head in disbelief with a hand over his face.

“Outrageous!” Roshi fumed, shaking his fist in annoyance. “To be duped by such a childish trick, why, what did he think was going to happen?”

“I don’t think he thought about it at all,” Bulma said, trying to hide her amused smile behind her hand.

The announcer declared Krillin the winner as Kakarot sheepishly climbed back up onto the ring to accede defeat and walk off into the waiting rooms for fighters. In a similar fashion, Krillin dispatched his subsequent opponents. Indeed, it seemed almost as easy for him as it had been Kakarot.

Bulma recognized Tien during a few fights, and one or two others she knew through reputation, but her attention faded and she found herself paying more attention to Vegeta’s clear envy at watching Tien. Perhaps the only truly skilled fighter, he ended his matches with single blows, working the crowd into a frenzy with showy, flourishing moves until they were chanting his name after each of his victories.

* * *

Krillin and Tien were the last two finalists, having shamed nearly every other competitor. The air was tense and the anticipation in it was palpable as the two of them entered the ring among cheers. Krillin took his usual ready stance, although his guard seemed more intense than it had before as he sized Tien up. It was difficult to tell who the crowd was leaning toward, as their joint theatrics had whipped up the attendees into a frenzy not seen in any tournament in recent history.

Cautiously, Krillin tried to evaluate his opponent, but nothing about Tien looked even remotely non-threatening. Rather, the massive figure in front of him seemed like a well-oiled trap ready to spring at the slightest touch. In spite of his unease, Krillin smiled to himself. Perhaps this would be the most fun he’d had all day.

Springing forward to taunt his opponent, Krillin took quick, catlike steps and danced around, feigning right before darting to the left and circling Tien to wait for an opening. Tien however, never moved, still standing with his hands behind his back and his head facing forward. A collective gasp rose from the stands as Tien vanished before their eyes.

Instinct, years of living on the streets told Krillin to duck. He rolled out of the way at the last moment and Tien’s shoe brushed his ear before it came crashing down on the ring so hard the stone fractured. Bounding to his feet, Krillin looked around wildly, but realized with horror Tien was nowhere to be seen.

The faintest movement of air to his left made his skin tingle, but he dodged too late and felt himself being hoisted up into the air as Tien seemed to appear from thin air. Throwing every bit of energy he had into a kick, he resisted being thrown. Against Tien’s powerful arms, however, the effort was futile. He landed hard on the ring and black haloed the edges of his vision.

With an almost casual, lethal grace, Tien closed the short gap between them before wrapping his fist in Krillin’s gi. Still struggling to breathe, Krillin watched the ground below him spin as then blur as he was tossed summarily from the ring.

“Contestant Tien is the winner of this year’s Tenkaichi!” the announcer cried.

* * *

“You gotta show me all your tricks!” Kakarot exclaimed. He could barely contain himself with excitement between questioning Krillin on what he knew and accepting congratulations from Bulma and Chi.

The tournament was over, and crowds surged around the outside of the arena, more than a little drunk on both cheap drinks and the spectacle of the fight.

“Yeah, I learned it all from the monks at the Order.” Krillin shrugged, but a fierce grin tugged at his mouth. “It got too boring there anyway, so I ran away to have fun. They couldn’t catch me anyway, I never lost to any of them in training.” Krillin stopped short as Tien approached their group.

Hey, it’s you, Tien guy! But you beat me. I’ve never lost to anyone in the temple…I was supposed to win.” He sunk to his knees and dramatically clasped his hands. “You gotta train me, please, I’ll do anything! I’ll -”

“No.” Tien cut him off.

“But…” Krillin faltered, “I wasn’t done promising.”

Tien shook his head and pinned him with a severe stare. “You just got done telling a story about how you brazenly throw off duty to authority and shirk responsibility to become a vagrant. One student unwilling to accept instruction is already one too many,” he gestured to Vegeta.

Roshi had been missing since the fight but now stood just behind Krillin. His bony hand clapped him on the shoulder and tightened in an iron-hard grip.

“Leave this one to me,” he said sternly. “I recognize you from the last Tenkaichi, five years ago.”

Krillin winced, avoiding looking at his current captor as he was forcibly turned around to face him.

“I knew it was you as soon as I saw that sneaky walk!” Roshi yelled, pointing accusingly. “You stole my magazines, you thief, give them back!”

Krillin looked surprised. “It was…five years ago. Why would I still have them, old man! Anyway, I’m not a thief anymore I swear it - some monks caught me and,” he lowered his head again to kick at the ground, “scolded me good. Made me promise to only earn money the legal way.”

Roshi glared at him, waving his cane threateningly. “Don’t think you’ll get off that easy, you little sneak.”

Kakarot butted in, tumbling over his words. “Hey, Master Roshi, why don’t ya just train Krillin yourself? It sure would be nice to have someone else around the island, and you could keep an eye on him?”

Krillin began to protest, but Kakarot elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Then you’d know if he was up to no good, and he could help out to pay you back for whatever he stole.”

“Ha!” Roshi huffed. “I’d wake up and even the house would be gone with this scoundrel about.”

“I’m not a scoundrel!” Krillin protested, “And I definitely don’t want to work for you.”

Roshi chuckled immediately, smiling again. “Oh I think you do. Unless, of course, you’d like to go back to the Tala Order? There’s a temple not too far from here, and I’m sure you’ve been missing out on a lot of lessons.”

Krillin glared for a moment then gave a heavy sigh. “I guess it’s better than going back to them,” he muttered.

Vegeta had been watching the exchange with interest, and he burst out laughing.

“Kakarot, it looks like you’ll get a chance to redeem yourself after that fight, show Krillin what a Saiyan is truly capable of.”

“Oh, I’ll be putting them both through the training of their life,” Roshi said gleefully. “And you there,” he turned to Tien, “I’ve seen your style before. You’re a crane school student, aren’t you?”

The tension in the air shifted when Tien did not respond right away. Vegeta eyed him, expecting to see agitation or an edge. Instead, it seemed that the two martial artists were sizing one another up, feeling each other out.

“No one is a crane student anymore, least of all me.” Tien sounded as if he were making a promise. “I will see to it that my master’s teaching is not wasted, but his legacy has met its end.”

“A bold ambition, to be sure.” Roshi’s eyes never broke their steady gaze on Tien. “And how do you plan to do this?”

“I’ll start with this rebel here.” Tien indicated Vegeta with a tilt of his head. “If such a stubborn one can be shaped, well, I’ll know I’m capable.”

Vegeta glared at him, already feeling his tail tingle in anger.

“Like hell you will. I don’t have shit to learn from you, _Earthling_.” He spat the demonym as if it were an insult.

Tien ignored it and continued, still looking at Roshi, who now wore a faint smile of amusement.

“You see? Can feel that pent up angst across the continent. Imagine the potential he has.”

“I’m right here, you bastard, quit talking about me. What makes you think I’ll go anywhere with you?” Vegeta snapped hotly, bristling with indignation.

Tien finally looked at him, and for the second time since his arrival on Earth, Vegeta second-guessed his aggression.

“Either you come with me willingly, or I will throw you over my shoulder and drag you back myself. You think you’re strong, beyond challenging - despite narrowly escaping death. Or have you already forgotten how you risked your life and that of your friend?”

Vegeta froze, his blood thundering at the reminder of how close he’d come to losing Kakarot. All on account of his pride.

“You think yourself so above Earthlings that you won’t even compete in this tournament.”

“I didn’t participate because I’m not a child incapable of taking life!” Vegeta shouted, drawing curious looks from a few tournament-goers leaving the arena. He lowered his voice, still fuming. “If there were no holds barred I’d show these pathetic fighters.”

“And yet you can’t. Your potential is incredible, yet you can control it as much as a fish controls the river in which it swims. Admit it, you’ve stalled in your training haven’t you?” Tien prodded him.

Krillin and Bulma were awkwardly looking anywhere but at the two obstinate rivals, when Roshi laughed.

“Give it up, boy. You may be a prince, but you have much to learn. From how that Kakarot fights, I’m willing to bet you’d never trained a day in your life. You Saiyans seem the type to charge into battle and let things fall where they may.”

Begrudgingly, Vegeta uncrossed his arms, bringing his unwilling fists to his sides.

“I only stalled because Bulma’s machines can’t take any more. If I had a real opponent -”

“You ungrateful ass!” Bulma exclaimed. “Fifteen times Earth’s gravity, any enemy you can dream up, and it’s still not good enough?”

Tien waved a hand at her. “Vegeta doesn’t need machines, he needs experience that only practice can bring. What he needs is instruction, which is why I plan to teach him myself.”

“Again, still haven’t agreed,” Vegeta muttered.

“You don’t get a choice,” Tien said flatly. “I won’t sit by and let you waste your potential. I think you know better than to test me.”

“Fine. But only because Bulma can’t do it,” Vegeta snapped in exasperation.

“If you’re done having a match of wills, I think I’d like to leave,” Bulma cut in. “It’s late, I’m tired, and the last thing I want is to listen to you bicker about who’s going to punch who first. Tien, why don’t you come back to Capsule Corp and stay with us this evening? You and Vegeta can collect his things, and I’m sure my father would love to meet you as well. He’s always interested in what’s going on back East.”

* * *

Tien had left with Bulma and Vegeta, leaving Chi and Kakarot to wait for Roshi to come back with his airship.

“It was so exciting to see you compete today.” Chi blushed and hugged Kakarot impulsively.

His skin burned where she touched him and he impulsively took her hand in his.

“I’m glad you came, Chi, I…” he swallowed hard, “I know we haven’t really talked about this much - that is to say _I_ haven’t talked about this much, but, well. What I mean is, ever since I remembered what I lost, I mean my…family, I thought that I might not have it again. But I still have Vegeta,” his voice was steadier, more earnest now, “and the last year we spent together -”

Chi cut off his sentence as she rose on her toes to kiss him softly. He tensed for a moment before awkwardly returning the gesture. She pulled away slowly and he looked at her in surprise.

“Does this mean you’ll be my mate then? Even though I lost the Tenkaichi?”

Her expression turned to one of confusion.

“Mate?” she turned even redder but didn’t remove her hand from his.

“Yes,” he nodded confidently. “Or is that not what that means?” he furrowed his brow.

“Kakarot,” Chi began carefully, “what do you think it means to be a mate?”

“Well, I know my parents were mates. And Vegeta’s too, but not just with each other. But they always fight together, and sometimes they even live together and start a family. Mine did.” He smiled softly for a moment before his brow crinkled again. “Wait, you look worried, does it not mean that on Earth?”

“Mmm, sort of,” she smiled again, the redness leaving her face. “Although there are other traditions I would like to share with you before I agree to that.”

Kakarot’s face fell. “So it is because I lost the Tenkaichi then?”

She placed her other hand on his cheek and gave a slight laugh. “No, not at all. We should talk more when we arrive back at Fa Pan, perhaps I can explain to you on the way how things are here on Earth. I would like to know of your ways as well, though.”

* * *

“So it was you at the rebellion in the Eastern capitol,” Dr. Briefs gave an approving nod as he wagged a finger at Tien across the coffee table they sat at. “I’ve heard rumors for a while now, but I had no idea the truth was that bad. That Kung now, he’s a good man, good politician. You know, during the Red Ribbon Rebellion he -” he stopped short and waved his hand. “Ah, but that’s a long history. Tell me, how is it that you came to meet him?”

“Do you really want to hear this?” Bulma murmured to Vegeta.

They sat across the room from Dr. Briefs and Tien, enjoying a delicate cake Vegeta begrudgingly admitted to having a taste for. He shrugged.

“I thought you said he always talks this much? He certainly does when he’s asking me about Saiyan culture.”

“Look,” she continued, “Mom is already asleep listening to them. Come on, let’s go get your things instead of suffering here with Tien. He looks like he’s got this on his own. Besides, I have something I want to show you.”

* * *

 _She couldn’t wait for me to leave._ Vegeta’s stomach dropped as he flew silently behind Tien toward the east. _She was practically bursting with excitement to give me my things and be rid of me._

In his arms, he carried a small case with the clothes Bulma had made or bought him during his stay at Capsule Corp. She had apologized before he left about not being able to exactly replicate his armor and needing to change some things about the design. He wished he had the old armor back, even if it was busted to pieces and not worth withstanding a single punch. Whenever she gave his clothes or gear back they always smelled like her and it was maddening - and now he had to be reminded each time he wore them of how eager she was to part with him.

_Fuck me._

He was going to have to throw himself into training with Tien if he wanted to forget about her. He tried to reason with himself. He would have to leave Earth eventually, and entangling himself in a relationship would only complicate things. He started at the thought and faltered in flight.

“Stick closer.” Tien’s voice was sharp. “I don’t need to lose you before we even get there.”

 _A relationship? Where did that thought come from?_ He pushed the thought away, out of his mind. _It’s better this way. Truth is better than comfort. Nappa was right._


	10. Endurance & Precision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training brings new challenges to Kakarot and Krillin.

JUNE, 750

“The world is small and full of many people. Any of them might choose to fight you. That is why you must train not only the body but the mind.” Roshi lectured as he walked across the beach on one hand. His fingers crept like a spider, his legs straight to the sky never wavered. A bead of ki was forming on his fingertip, glowing and pulsing. It never ceased to entrance Kakarot.

He was trying desperately to copy Roshi’s stance and had been for the last week. Every time he tried to draw a controlled amount of ki though, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Krillin was having an equally hard time, interspersing his failures with curses and blows to the sand. After a particularly messy fall where they knocked heads with one another, Roshi sighed heavily and lowered himself to the ground before standing upright.

“Kakarot, how is it that you can be up training longer than the sun, and can blow nearly the whole island away with your ki, but not at the same time? Do Saiyans have no discipline?”

“We do! It’s just hard to control myself, I wanna fly and fire off bigger blasts!”

“I am the Turtle hermit,” Roshi said a bit stiffly, “not the bird-bomb hermit. It is not enough to learn or to practice, you must master.”

“More like bird _brain,”_ Krillin muttered.

Kakarot snickered in spite of himself, and Roshi narrowed his eyes at them.

“Oh I see. You know what, you two are right, you should cut loose. There’s a small island nearby, why don’t I let you blow off some steam and really go all out. Show me what you can do.”

* * *

A large beast snorted in anger, its tusked mouth dripping with froth as it inhaled viciously and stamped the ground with its hooves. Resembling a large bear with an ugly, scaly hide, the Jabitu was both the most horrifying and fascinating creature Kakarot had ever seen.

The rock he and Krillin were crouched beneath barely covered their drawn-up legs, and they held their breath in anticipation as the ground above them shook. The Jabitu threw back its head to roar, and they took advantage of the noise to spring from beneath the ledge.

“Now!” Krillin cried, darting right as Kakarot went left to flank the beast.

In unison, they leaped forward and delivered blows to the creature, expecting it to fall.

“It’s too big and muscley, you distract it, I’ll blast em!”

Kakarot jumped back as Krillin danced around the beast’s face, landing several blows to little effect but skillfully dodging its counterattacks.

Kakarot began to charge his Kamehameha, his jaw clenching with effort as he fought to control his ki. Krillin was rapidly becoming overwhelmed by the beast’s rage, and it was starting to show on his face. Several small ki blasts came from his hands, and Kakarot nearly fell attempting to avoid them as they widely missed the Jabitu.

Krillin paused for too long to charge an attack up, and the Jabitu pounced on the advantage, grabbing him with its mangled paws and hurling him at Kakarot.

Kakarot flew backward, smashing into a rock with Krillin’s full weight behind them. The strain was too much, and Kakarot lost control of the Kamehameha. It exploded on the ground in front of them, producing a shock wave that blinded Kakarot and made his insides feel like gelled soup. Struggling against his frozen body, he tried to rouse Krillin.

A deep gash seeped dark blood from Krillin’s forehead and his jaw hung limply. Horrified, Kakarot watched as the Jabitu dug at the ground and began to charge them. The hideous body loomed over him, and he tried in vain to reach for Krillin’s body and shield it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and braced himself, but the impact didn’t come.

A pained howl escaped the Jabitu’s maw as a brilliant blue bolt of ki shot from Roshi’s hands, knocking it several meters away. Kakarot stared in awe at the massive hole in its chest where merely moments before had been hardened plate scales.

“You are strong, true. But you are young, unseasoned. You lack experience, and you haven’t the faintest idea how to work together.” Roshi had walked over and was waving a vial under Krillin’s nose.

“I control your training for this reason. You must learn precision and coordination, or your strength will be your downfall instead of your salvation.”

* * *

“You want something. Admit it.” Vegeta accused as Tien stepped inside the room.

They had only arrived at Tien’s new home a few weeks before, but Tien had been absent frequently and close-mouthed when he wasn’t if Vegeta brought up training. Their only interaction was Tien asking him strange philosophical questions and leaving him to sit alone for hours on end.

“Of course I do.” Tien leaned against the wall and shrugged. “Surely you don’t think I would want nothing in return for sacrificing my time to train you?”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. “I knew I couldn’t trust you.”

“I never said you could. But I can tell by the way you carry yourself, you’ve killed before. Many times, I’d wager.”

“What of it?”

“I won’t bother to mince words. Shen was not the only Tokai out there murdering people, inciting others to murder and oppress one another. I confronted his brother, my uncle, in the eastern capitol a short time ago. I barely escaped with my life.”

“Why should I care?”

“Bulma’s father told me very little about how you came to Earth, but I got the sense that you don’t intend to stay here. Your face, it’s that of one who seeks vengeance.”

“I will not discuss it with you. Enough of my past has been dragged out of me.” Vegeta said hotly, throwing his clothes down on the floor and whirling on Tien.

“Our arrangement is simple.” Tien continued as if there was no argument. “I will train you, and in doing so gain a powerful ally to take down the rest of the Tokai. When my vengeance is earned, you will certainly be strong enough to face whatever it is you plan to take on. But there is one thing you must tell me.”

“I’ll tell you what I choose to.”

“By Kami, you’re so arrogant!” Tien finally exploded, his eyes flashing. “I refuse to use another person who cannot withstand what is necessary! Do you savor a life where every breath is fear, where every action could tip the scales of life and death?”

“Of course.” Vegeta’s face blanched. “What kind of prince would I be if I didn’t?”

Tien’s brows raised a bit, and he straightened from his threatening posture. He took in the wild-eyed Saiyan in front of him, barely up to his chest and brimming with a rage that threatened to shake him apart. A smile finally cracked his face as he shook his head.

“How could I forget? You’re not human, you’re Saiyan. Come with me. I know all I need to know. It’s time you were able to say the same.”

* * *

NOVEMBER, 750

Tien gave him a strange look as they broke, and his voice was tinged with admiration.

“Well done, runt. You’re stronger than you realize.”

“There’s always someone stronger though. I have to get better, faster. How else do you kill someone stronger than you?”

“You don’t fight them.”

“Then there’s no honor in that.”

“What is more important to you, honor, or success? Are you truly willing to do anything?”

Vegeta didn’t answer and Tien continued.

“There are many ways to kill your opponent. You do not have to face him as an equal if you aren’t one. With enough precision, control, and wit, even a child can kill a man.

“There is a myth among people here in the east. It tells of the swallow who killed the demon. For hundreds of years, the demon slaughtered families, attacked travelers and drove livestock from their fields. The guardian spirits of great cats and wolves hunted the demon, but he slew them all.

“The swallow was patient, for she had heard of the demon. She lured him to a cliff, mimicking the cry of a human. When he approached the edge though, she dove through the air and flew about his head, taunting him that he could never hit one as small as her. The demon lunged wildly, and fell over the edge to his death below the realms, for this cliff sat at the edge of the world.”

“This is why we Saiyans have the Oozaru.” Vegeta squatted and raked a sweaty hand back through his hair. “I will tell you of this once, against my better judgment, but only because you have shared one of your own stories.”

Tien thumped to the ground across from him, crossing his legs and arms.

“I’m listening.”

* * *

Landing pods screamed through the air like meteors, slamming into the planet and shaking the ground beneath them. Cracks opened in the surface, lava and steam hissing and gouting under the relief of so much pressure. Sporadic explosions rained down on the Saiyans from the Tuffle artillery and the cries of the wounded echoed across the battlefield.

Nappa and Paragus, the two oldest of the tribe, stood together like a wall of fists, raining blows on the few foot soldiers the Tuffles had managed to advance far enough into the Saiyan ranks. The two of them charged through their own ranks, throwing themselves at the front of the line through a hailstorm of laser shots and projectiles.

Through the red-orange haze of flash powder and earthen debris, the ranks of the Tuffles could be seen stretching all the way back to their city walls. They fell, but so did the Saiyans, although the latter was more talented at getting back up than the former. A savage rage infected them, and the berserkers still frothed at the mouth, their howls carrying through the smoke.

Behind the Saiyan ranks, commanding the battle from a low ridge, stood King Vegeta. His deep crimson cloak was singed on one side, clinging to his epaulet with the remains of a pin. Blood streaked his temple, and his gloves were tattered to shreds as he fought the stragglers who reached him. He barked orders from his vantage point, desperately rallying his followers with shouts to regroup and flank the enemy. The sea of carnage in front of him stretched further than he could see, and he grimaced. Failure was not an option. Sadala was destroyed, and there would be no going back. If they could not overwhelm the Tuffles, all would be lost.

Desperately, he threw back his head to roar in an attempt to inspire the fighters with courage and froze. A blood-red orb hung in the sky, pitted and cracked as if it had weathered as many conflicts as he had. The savage color intensified the hue of the evening light, and it seemed to reach out to him as he looked closer, noticing the details. It seemed to swell before his eyes, mesmerizing him with its glow.

* * *

“They say that back to back, there was no one who could overtake Nappa and Paragus. They were legends, bonded since their youth, and undefeated in combat. That night, they held the front lines while my father ordered the fighters about. But something changed that turned the tide and the rest of our history as a people.

“My father was granted the Oozaru by the moon goddess. She saw our need and gifted us the power to transform into the giant ape. He was the first to change, granting us victory and decimating the ranks of the Tuffles. Once he had gone, many others followed suit as he gestured to the bloodied moon in the sky. That is why I will always seek strength. It is my legacy.”

Tien spoke softly. “Sometimes, the only time a person is brave is when they are afraid. Fear can be a powerful motivator, or it can be a hindrance. But it is not always enough to be brave. You must be cunning, crafty, and perceptive above all else. You cannot allow for distractions, and nothing can sway you from your purpose.”

“You’re awfully sensible for a human.”

“But then again, I’m not like most humans, am I?” Tien’s third eye opened, blinked, and closed again.

“You will trust no one,” he continued, “and divulge nothing of yourself. Anything you choose to tie yourself to can become a cage, or worse, a trap, a weakness to be exploited. At times you will chafe under the denial, you will be tempted to open up, to let someone in. The moment you do that, you have sealed their fate, for the day will come where you must betray them.”

“What about you?”

“Especially me. I will push you to your limits, exhaust your mind, spirit, and body until you think you can take no more, and then - and only then, will I teach you.”

* * *

A whoop from outside startled Roshi from his seat at the table. He scowled at the window and continued to blow on his tea. It was bad enough to have to chase after Kakarot and move to a larger island, and now he had a second rambunctious boy to get into trouble.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered as he took a sip and got up to watch.

Outside, Kakarot and Krillin ran the shoreline, passing a glowing ball of ki between them that grew with every exchange. Sweat darkened their clothes and patches of sand clung to their skin despite the still-cool spring air and the sinking sun.

Krillin had been tricky from the start, catching on quickly to the ability to shutter and conceal his ki in bursts, much to Kakarot’s frustration. He didn’t have much of a choice though, as most of their sparring sessions together consisted of Krillin being forced to stay on his toes in an effort to avoid Kakarot’s intense blows. A feint here, a half dodge and turn there, a release of ki control to grant a burst of speed - it took cleverness to withstand the battery Kakarot could lay on an opponent, and Krillin was nothing if not clever.

Roshi had been curious to see how this cleverness would push Kakarot, who tended to have a single strategy he pursued until he either won or wore himself out. Surprisingly, Kakarot had adapted. His footing was more sure now, and Roshi watched as his eyes flitted with the rapt focus of a predator, anticipating Krillin’s next movement and lunging to receive the ball of ki without letting it explode.

The exercise of passing it between themselves had proved slow and arduous work, and many times Roshi has scrambled to intervene at the last moment before it crashed into the house or himself. The danger seemed to thrill and excite them though, and Krillin took great delight in theatrically letting it roll along his hands and arms like a performer.

To his chagrin, Roshi was now almost certain that Krilin had the capability to become a practitioner, especially with the ease with which he made things that weren’t the ki ball disappear and reappear. It delighted Kakarot, and Roshi determined to monitor the situation until and unless it proved to be an issue. He grimaced at the idea of involving Baba, even out of necessity.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Roshi encouraged the two boys to experiment with manipulating and shaping the ki as they passed it.

“Remember,” he lectured as he spun his cane and marched through the sand, “the more unique your own style, the less predictable you will be to an opponent. The turtle style is recognizable, but you must come into your own.”

Concentration furrowed Krillin’s brow as he balanced on one foot, spinning the glowing orb in preparation to pass it to Kakarot. Guiding with his free hand, he compressed the orb, flattening it a bit. His jaw locked and a vein in his forehead bulged with effort. It slipped from his grasp, shooting toward Kakarot at a wild angle. Krillin yelled in frustration, but this time, Roshi did not intervene. It was past time for that.

Kakarot was moving toward the orb before it even reached him, grasping it from the air with a ferocious growl.

“Good, Krillin! That’s progress, but you must dominate the ki. It is alive, it wants to expand and explode, but you must bend it to your will. Sharpen your mind!” Roshi punctuated his reprimand with an indignant jab of his staff into the ground.

The orb swelled in Kakarot’s hand and Roshi repressed a shiver at the animalistic fervor crackling in his eyes. His single year on Earth had served him well. He had grown little in stature, but the boy of now fifteen was rapidly approaching what Roshi recognized must be the Saiyan adulthood as his muscled enlarged and grew stronger. Part of the reason for engaging his pupils in battle with one another was purely because Roshi had rapidly come to realize they would outpace him in sheer power. As Kakarot added to the ki and prepared to hurl it back to Krillin, this realization was driven home once again.

At the last moment, the air wavered around Kakarot, and Roshi immediately realized he had drawn from the orb and cloaked himself in a layer of ki. He smiled. Krillin was still too absorbed in his shortcoming to notice.

The orb hurtled back to him and he immediately began to manipulate it again. Roshi held his breath as this time, Krillin was successful. The now-diminished orb flattened as Krillin crushed it between his hands, widening into a flat disc as it compressed. Grinning triumphantly, he prepared to throw it to Kakarot, who stood in an eager crouch.

“Try and catch it now!” he called out.

Kakarot let his breath out in a hiss as he watched the disc hurtle toward him, now an almost blinding white as it shone. The ki he had siphoned from it before passing it back cloaked him, and he melded it with his own and tensed, making no move to catch the disc. He was vaguely aware of Roshi, watching intently from the side.

The disc neared him finally, and in a flash he threw up both his hands, unthrottling his own ki and releasing the hold he had on it. The disc shot away from him and the air cracked as the energy around him collided with the disc and dissipated.

* * *

JANUARY, 751

Vegeta was running out of forest, and out of energy. Tien pursued close behind him, barely detectible to his poor ki sensing skills. Even still, the power emanating was intoxicating. Envy filled him and spurred him to push himself harder, to fly faster and jump further. Gouts of earth sprayed beneath his heels and his hands burned from grinding against the bark of trees as he zigzagged to make an escape from his pursuer.

Every meter he covered presented new obstacles, and he had no time to look back as he avoided fallen trunks and boulders littering his path. Flight taxed him, but he dared not slow his speed by landing on the ground for too long. He frowned. There was a break in the trees he didn’t remember being there, and he rushed forward hoping to find a vantage point or an opening in the dense foliage.

Instead of an ambush, he found himself skidding desperately to a stop at the edge of a cliff. Far below, a gorge had sliced the ground clean through for what was probably hundreds of years, carving a wide chasm where once there had only been a small stream.

_I have to jump, I don’t have a choice. There’s nowhere else to run, and I don’t have enough time to double back and evade him._

The snap of a twig chilled his blood and he whirled to see Tien stalking toward him, his hands raised to hold a glowing, pulsing ball of ki. Vegeta ground his teeth, certain they would crack, and growled as he threw himself off the edge and narrowly missed the attack as Tien launched it. His pride stung more than his hands as he dug desperate fingers into the earthen canyon walls in an attempt to slow his descent.

“The hunt is on, runt.” Tien’s voice boomed off the walls of the cliff. “If I catch you now, I will kill you. We will be no more than beasts, stopping only for rest…at our own peril. It is time to train.”

With all his might, Vegeta curled his legs under him and shoved, hard. Away from the side he went, flying with his last bit of strength into the water below.

_Please let it be deep enough._

* * *

“You take too many risks, runt.”

“When will you stop calling me that?!”

“When you can stop me yourself.”

“It was your idea to send me on a…a death march! What else was I supposed to do?” Vegeta shook the water from himself, still drenched as he was from diving into the ravine. His tail dripped and he frowned, shaking it again.

“You need to learn to focus. Your mind is too distracted, cluttered with emotion that threatens to wrest your control from you.”

“I don’t see what a waterfall has to do with that.” Vegeta huffed in annoyance as they crested a small hill. “Besides, I’m plenty focused. I have a goal in mind, you know.”

Tien grunted. “I could care less what you plan to do once the Tokai are gone - so long as you don’t fail. I won’t have my first student falling short of the one goal they have.”

“Can’t we just move on to you teaching me things?”

“That’s your problem, runt. As soon as you’ve seen a skill, you think you can just go around using it. But unless you master it, you can’t rely on it in a fight. You need to set your mind to the task at hand now - not in the future. Underneath the water, sit.” Tien pointed in command.

Vegeta contemplated protesting again, but feeling the bruises already forming on his body, thought better of it. The icy mountain water sent a shock through him as he ducked under the falls, hitching his breath in his chest.

“By the goddamn moon that’s fucking cold!” He shouted, his voice already hoarse. “How long do I have to sit here?”

“Until I can no longer break your focus.”

Tien’s voice was muffled through the roar of the water. Vegeta tried not to choke as water filled his mouth, nose, and crept into his ears.

“You know the basics of meditation,” Tien began, his voice indicating he had begun pacing. “Release your mind, become one with the earth’s ki around you, and let the water wash away every thought and feeling. Feel the ki. Do you feel it? Are you focused?”

_Fuck you._

Vegeta grit his teeth and hoped his silence would suffice for an answer. His skin crawled like it was covered in glass and the roar of blood in his ears threatened to drown out the water. He wrapped his tail tighter around himself in what he knew was a futile effort to fight off the cold.

Just as he thought it was becoming bearable, he felt a forceful shove in his mind. Yelling and immediately choking, he floundered out of the water.

“What the hell was that? You said focus, I was focusing!”

Tien sat on a rock in the pool at the base of the falls, and Vegeta was almost certain he floated above it.

“Apparently not hard enough. Your mind must be so strong, so sharp, that even in the deepest pain, the starkest terror, the hottest rage, your control will not slip. I refuse to have an unreliable student. I will continue to attempt to interrupt your focus until you can shut me out.”

“I don’t know how!” Vegeta practically roared, flinging his soaked hair out of his face. “You chase me over a goddamn cliff, nearly let me drown, just to freeze me to death while you fuck with my head?”

“Do you know what Lun Chu told me when I first met her? That the one destined to save the world could not do it without me. Then you and Kakarot showed up. Oh, she knew. But she let me figure it out in my own time.” Tien opened his eyes. “The Celestials have something planned for you. And whatever it is, apparently it is my duty to prepare you for it. So like it or not, you will practice. You will learn patience. And you will focus. Because I do not fail. Now sit.”

Vegeta stomped back to the waterfall, where he spent what felt like an eternity desperately chasing an inner calm as Tien battered his mind with psychic blows. More than once, his screams of frustration rivaled the thunder of the falls themselves. Thoughts distracted him from focus.

His father. Bulma saying goodbye. Shen’s face as he stood over him, and Kakarot’s terrified expression. In his desperate attempt to escape his icy prison, his mind ran in every direction, shocking him when his mother’s face came to mind. A push again, in the back of his head, and her image warped and faded. Furious over feeling discovered reminiscing, Vegeta pushed back as hard as he could, from where he did not know.

It was as if he had been struggling to hold back a river with his own hands, only suddenly the bed rose up and cut it off for him. He felt the backlash and heard Tien swore, followed by a large splash and more cursing.

Fire raced through him, warming him as if he were standing beneath the lava falls of Planet Vegeta. He no longer felt the water, or his aching knees and back, or his exhaustion from earlier. A hand jerked him roughly from his internal gloating and hauled him from beneath the falls.

“I said enough, did you not hear me?” Tien stared at him wide-eyed, almost examining him.

Vegeta’s eyes slowly came into focus as he wiped them, and he noticed a faint trickle of blood coming from Tien’s nose.

“You’re letting your thoughts run wild. You just lashed out at me when you should be focusing. Yet clearly, you have some aptitude for psychic talent, even if purely defensive.” He eyed Vegeta critically. “You are standing in your own way here. Whatever clouds your thoughts, perhaps it is best to put it aside until you are ready to deal with it. Enough with the falls. We will return to this another day. It’s time for you to learn to truly harness your inner eye. Perhaps that is the ki to your gaining complete self-control.”

* * *

APRIL, 751

Kakarot and Krillin sat beneath a large tree on the bank, the spring evening air blanketing them in thick humidity.

“You know, I bet ya you could pass for a Saiyan.” Kakarot said, breaking the contemplative silence between them. “Until the moon comes out of course,” he laughed.

Krillin shook his head and shifted to lean back against the palm’s rugged trunk.

“I keep almost forgetting you’re an offworlder. If it wasn’t for that tail of yours I’d forget altogether, you sure’re closemouthed about them.”

Kakarot was quiet again and Krillin grunted.

“Well, not my business.” His voice was flat, but a bit of emotion entered it as he hesitated, then spoke again. “I’m not too keen to talk about my past either. You know, I like that about you, Kakarot. You don’t ask stupid questions. Or many questions at all for that matter.” He laughed.

The silence stretched again, filled only with the sound of waves lapping and the occasional bird cry.

“There’s one thing every Saiyan fears.” Kakarot began, but stopped just as suddenly.

Krillin waited, acutely aware that Kakarot was choosing to share something he had perhaps told no one else.

“We get a new name, kinda like Earth’s family names, whenever we commit a great feat of heroism or do really well in battle. I’m afraid - everyone is - of dying before I’m named. And now…there might not be anyone left but Vegeta and me to name each other.”

Trying to keep his voice casual, Krillin elbowed Kakarot playfully.

“Hey, at least you won’t die alone. That’s what most of us Earthlings worry about. You know, getting old and weak, passing on in obscurity with no one giving a damn. But you don’t gotta worry about that. You and Vegeta have each other, eh?”

“What if that’s really all I have?” Kakarot’s voice was almost a whisper.

“You got me. A little short, but not too bad, better than nothing. That Vegeta is a little haughty, but he definitely cares about you. So cheer up, no matter what he and I’ll be at your side.”

Kakarot nodded, trying to relax, but his thoughts took him far away.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely fan-made work and is not officially affiliated in any way with or endorsed by the Dragon Ball universe, franchise, films, manga, tv specials or games. Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Dragon Ball GT, Dragon Ball Super, and all associated franchises are the property of Akira Toriyama, Fuji TV, Toei Animation, Funimation, and their respective creators, writers, artists & publishers. Please support the official release.


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